


We Need To Talk About Henry

by fictorium



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Dark Magic, Dysfunctional Family, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 98,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One death during The Miller's Daughter just wasn't painful enough, quite frankly, so another major character will be biting the dust.</p><p>We diverge from canon at the moment Cora's heart is returned to her body, and this time not by Regina's hand. What happens from there leads to a new Dark One, a family in turmoil and new alliances being formed to protect the most important person in all of their lives. Hey, like Hillary Clinton said: it takes a village. Slow-burning but definitely a Swan Queen story, so hang in there with me. I'll update just as frequently as I can.</p><p>This is an AU requested by the lovely <b>thewhitestars</b>. The title is a nod to the excellent novel by Lionel Shriver, 'We Need To Talk About Kevin'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story, while it borrows the title, does not follow the events of 'We Need To Talk About Kevin'. No school massacres, and the only crossbow will be Granny's, I promise.

They disappoint, they disappear, they die but they don’t.  
They disappoint, in turn I fear, forgive though they won’t.”  
‘ **No More’ - Into The Woods (Sondheim/Lapine)**

 

 

 _Little boys shouldn’t play with knives, Henry_.

Mom told him that time and time again. But then she turned out to be the Evil Queen of his nightmares, and somewhere along the line he stopped listening to all the important things she tried to teach him.

Emma told him to stay with Ruby, but Emma doesn’t really teach lessons like Mom does, other than the best way to get someone else to do your laundry or how to jimmy the lock on an apartment door when you lose your keys for the third time in a week. And Ruby is really sweet, but she’s really easy to sneak away from, even with the whole wolf tracking thing. 

He used to sneak away from his mom a lot too. But that woman who also taught him not to play with matches is still the Evil Queen, and she’s probably tried to kill everyone in this room. She even killed Henry himself once, but that was an accident and it’s hard to get mad when it broke the curse and made everything so cool.

But when she’s the one to pick up the dagger, and Mr Gold lunges at her, Henry no longer sees the Evil Queen. He sees his mom, who knows that he likes chives in his eggs, the way she makes them for herself; he sees his mom, who knows all the words to his special song about bears, that nobody else in the whole world has ever heard, not even Emma, because he’s really too old for that now.

Little boys can be so much faster than adults, and in a split-second, Henry lunges too. 

He doesn’t have to make a choice, really. Just by grabbing the dagger from his mom’s hand, Henry puts himself right on course for Mr Gold to fall on its silver blade. Henry scrambles out from under him, pulling the knife out as he does.

“I did it for you, Mom,” Henry tries to say, but his mouth is so dry and the words just won’t come. The blood is leaking out on either side of Mr Gold, rich and dark and not as red as Henry imagined it would be. It looks more like wine, like the time he spilled a glass on Mom’s spotless white rug, and she had to throw it out.

With a gurgling sound, Mr Gold goes very still, and Henry really hopes someone is going to hurry up and make him okay.

He looks at the two people on the floor: his grandfather, and a grandmother he never met, before looking back at his Mom. He expects a hug, maybe one of those kisses on the top of his head that he squirms away from but secretly likes. But when his Mom’s eyes meet his at last, she screams.

***

“I hate magic!” Neal growls and he unleashes his anger on the nearest tree, kicking at it until he connects a little too well and hobbles off in fresh frustration.

Emma bends, grabbing her knees and trying desperately not to hurl. No matter how many times she sees magic—hell, no matter how many times she’s done it herself—the adjusting is taking a hell of a long time to happen.

“We’ve got to get back,” she shouts after Neal. The woods are still largely unfamiliar, but this part Emma knows well, by the Toll Bridge. “Cora, we have to stop her!” 

“And what are we supposed to do, Emma?” Neal demands, marching up to her like it’s her fault he never filled her in on the whole fairytale mess. He gets right in her face, and for a moment between them it’s so ugly that Emma can’t remember which part of her ever loved the guy. 

“Well,” Emma says, taking maybe the deepest breath of her life. “I think I should try to do the same spell that brought us here?” 

“Woah!” Neal doesn’t look thrilled at the news. “Magic enough to use the chalk is one thing, but you can do spells? What are you, some kind of witch?” 

His tone really only stiffens Emma’s resolve to tell him to go screw himself. This stuff is weird enough, and he could have helped her so much sooner. She could have spent ten years hunting down her parents, or maybe even broken the stupid curse earlier. That would have been ten more years of not feeling completely alone. 

“Yeah. I mean, maybe? I don’t really know. And while I’ve never done the whole purple smoke thing, your Dad tells me it’s just about wanting it bad enough,” Emma informs him. “So I’m going to try that, instead of running the whole length of town. You coming with?” 

“Hell, no,” Neal fires back. “You could end up anywhere! Or turn yourself into a toad!” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Emma says, almost like she actually believes it. “But if you’re punking out on me again? Fine. Walk for all I care.”

She turns away from him, leaning one hand against a tree for a moment as a fresh wave of nausea roils in her stomach. Emotion, Gold had said. Think about what it is you want to protect, or in this case, where she really wants to go. She closes her eyes, focusing on the musty, mothballed smell of the pawn shop, of the weird trinkets that line the walls, from swords to baby clothes, and feels the strange electrical kind of feeling start to charge somewhere in her thighs. 

Well, now this really has to work, she figures. It’s just the magical version of the time when she hurled herself into the deep end of the pool at the Y when her foster dad said he’d sooner see her drown than spend a dime on swimming lessons. 

Neal is yelling at her, but Emma can feel it happening already. For a second it’s like floating, and every part of her body tingles instead of feeling the normal way that it does, that she doesn’t have to think about. She’s muttering ‘shop, shop, shop’ and the one hand shoved in a coat pocket is clutching her piece of invisible chalk until she can’t feel that or even her hand anymore. 

When she opens her eyes, she’s standing right by the cash register, surrounded by broken glass and the other debris from the earlier battle. 

Well, goddamn. 

Way to be a magical genius on her third time, Emma figures, feeling pretty damn smug for just about the first time in her life. She’d consider a little victory dance around the space, but there’s a scream from the back room so ungodly that her blood turns to jello in her veins. Time seems to stop, until Emma’s feet do the thinking for her and she’s running towards the open door. 

Of all the people she expected to be screaming, Regina wasn’t actually that high on the list. Emma winces at the horrible sound, but her first instinct is to confirm that both her parents and Henry are still standing. They are, even if Henry is staring at Regina like he’s never seen someone have a total breakdown in front of him before. Which, probably, he hasn’t. 

Although he _is_ holding some funky kind of knife and everyone looks like a house just landed on someone… which is when Emma completes the sweep and registers the two inert bodies on the floor. 

Cora, that Emma didn’t dare to hope for, but the witch is slumped beside Regina in that stiff, awkward way that Emma recognizes as not just a nap. She steps closer to Henry, and as she does the blood pool around his body comes into view. 

“Did anyone…” she starts to ask, but the words won’t form when her eyes finally look at the knife up close. It has Henry’s name on it, and he’s holding it like a damn Olympic torch, offering it up to Emma like it’s burning his hand. She snatches it from him, just in case it is, and that finally shuts Regina up long enough to pull her mother’s body into her lap and start rocking it. 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret says finally, shattering the newfound silence. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” Emma sputters. “Uh, all that happened to me was a bit of teleporting. What the hell happened here?” 

“She killed my mother!” Regina snarls. “She brought her heart back and when she… when she put it in, it killed my mother!” 

“Is that true?” Emma demands, but it’s her father who answers when Mary Margaret stares at her feet in shame. 

“We had to stop her somehow,” David insists. “Without her heart she would have killed us all, once she had the dagger.” 

“This is _that_ dagger?” Emma stares, staring at the chilled metal that isn’t warming at all in her hands. There’s a red sheen on the blade, and it doesn’t take CSI to line that fact up with the blood spilled from Mr Gold. “How does someone getting their heart back kill them?” 

“The shock must have been too much for her,” Mary Margaret mumbles, and even in her extreme state of distraction, Emma feels the niggling sensation that she’s being lied to. “I was protecting all of us.” 

“You were trying to stop me getting my son back,” Regina whines, eyes closed as she rocks her mother gently back and forth. “That is all you cared about.” 

“Did nobody think to call a doctor, or…” Emma trails off at the shaking heads and incredulous looks. 

“They’re both dead, Emma,” David explains. “It’s too late.” 

“What happened to Gold?” Emma asks, trying to ignore the sinking sensation as her brain puts the facts together without her permission. “Do I need to, you know, make this a crime scene?” 

“He was going to hurt my mom for it,” Henry says, and Emma’s relieved that he sounds like a regular kid, even in this weirdest of situations. Archie will still be buying a new car with all the therapy Henry is going to need, though. “I had to protect Mom.” 

“You did this?” Emma gasps. “Henry, you stabbed him? He’s your grandfather.” Sometimes she can’t quite believe the crap that comes out of her mouth during these panicked moments of motherhood in extreme circumstances. 

“He did it to protect me!” Regina interrupts, lowering her mother gently to the floor, covering her with Regina’s black coat before standing up to face Henry more directly. “And I’m so touched that you tried to save me, Henry, but oh my darling…” 

“If he stabbed Gold with the dagger then he—“ Emma has to say it out loud to believe it, but her own mother interrupts her. 

“Oh no!” Mary Margaret cries. “It can’t work on Henry. He’s just a little boy!” 

“It does,” Regina confirms, and those two words are the saddest sound that Emma has ever heard. “I’m sorry, Henry, but when it comes to magic this dark, not even your age will protect you.” 

“No,” David argues, stepping forward from where he’d been standing with his hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “Regina, I don’t care what you have to do, but you take this away from him. Now.” 

“I can only do that by killing him,” Regina says, stepping closer and pulling Henry to her side. “And I will die myself before I’ll harm a hair on his head.” 

“Shame you didn’t have that attitude when you were poisoning baked goods,” David grumbles, and Emma shoots him a warning look. This is hands-down the most volatile situation she’s been in, ever, and she does not need cheap shots to light the fuse. 

“Henry,” Emma says, trying to sound bright and breezy. “How are you feeling, kid?” 

“You mean do I feel like the Dark One?” Henry asks, but his smile is his regular one, just a little shaky. “No, I feel pretty much the same,” he confirms, letting Regina hug him a little tighter without complaint. Emma’s gradually aware that everyone left in the room is staring at her, or more specifically the dagger in her hand. 

“Okay,” Emma breathes. “We need a plan.” 

“I need to...” Regina dissolves into a sudden sob that catches everyone by surprise. “My mother. I have to bury her.” 

“And we have to find Neal,” Snow reminds Emma, laying a hand on Emma’s forearm, making the dagger twitch. “I don’t really know where things stand with you two--” 

“He’s engaged to someone else. For the last time, I have no feelings for him!” Emma snaps. 

“Hello?” Neal calls out from through in the shop. 

“Cover--for God’s sake--” Emma reacts when no one else does, pulling Gold’s ratty old blanket from the sofa and covering his body with it. She’d feel more sympathy if she had the time, maybe. 

Neal spills in, no sign of the sword he’d had in the woods, and Emma stops herself from rolling her eyes just in time. 

“Neal,” David steps up. “Listen, man, some stuff went down here, and I’m sorry to have to--” 

“Papa?” Neal says, sounding even younger than Henry as he notices the body on the floor. He moves so quickly Emma doesn’t have time to move out of the way, and he barges her with his shoulder as he reaches for the blanket that covers Gold’s body. 

The howl of anguish chills Emma’s blood, and she looks away from the sad scene before her. Her eyes meet Regina’s, just for a second, but Regina isn’t too squeamish to look at Neal, to step in and place a tentative hand on his shoulder. He shrugs her off, but then he sees Cora’s body at Regina’s feet and they nod at each other in the most desperate flash of understanding that Emma has ever seen. 

“Henry,” she says quietly. “You’re going to go with Mary Margaret and David right now, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“No!” Regina snaps. “You idiots have no idea what you’re dealing with.” 

“When you’ve dealt with your mother, you’ll come meet us, Regina,” Emma says, standing up and asserting what she desperately hopes is authority. “But we can’t stand here arguing when you both have parents to bury.” 

That shuts everyone up in very short order. 

Emma pulls out her phone and fires a quick text to Archie. Whatever they decide about Henry later today, the kid is going to need as many voices of reason as they can find. 

“Neal, do you need me to--” 

“I got this,” he says, voice gruff as he rubs at his face with his sleeve. “Thanks, Emma, but I need to do this myself.” 

“Regina?” 

“Not necessary,” Regina responds, without her usual bite. “I’ll be coming by your apartment later,” she adds, every bit a warning, before gently lifting Cora and disappearing in a swirl of purple smoke. 

Wary of further questions and not needed, Emma heads towards the door. Neal looks around for a moment, seemingly unfocused, before moving towards a rack of tools on the far wall. He picks the spade up, crying again, and Emma leaves him to it. 

*** 

She slips the dagger into the inside pocket of her coat, because Emma can’t really think too hard about how freaking powerful it’s supposed to be, or the blood she wiped off on her sleeve. This day feels a lot like the one where all the brain elastic thinks ‘hell, no’ and snaps completely at yet another load of fairytale bullshit to take onboard; it’s kind of a miracle Emma isn’t rocking quietly in a corner somewhere right now. Maybe Regina can suggest a nice room in the asylum they liberated after the curse broke. 

Before Emma can even get in the apartment’s front door, Ruby is falling all over her with a hundred chattering apologies, swearing she only looked away for a moment and Henry left a bunch of his dirty laundry in the room to make it seem like he was still there, and Ruby promises next time she won’t just rely on the wolf senses, which is when Emma holds her hands up in surrender. 

There’s going to be a whole lot of blaming and finger-pointing before they all go to bed tonight, and Emma isn’t in any hurry to start it by taking shots at one of her few friends. 

Henry is sitting on the sofa, hands folded in his lap, trying his very best to look angelic. Emma knows the pose all too well, she tried the very same butter-wouldn’t-melt routine outside every social worker or principal’s office she was ever sent to; hell, she even tried it when the cops threw her in Central Booking the first time. 

“How do you feel, kid?” She asks again, watching him closely for crackling firebolts or any sign of crazy purple eyes. All that looks back at her is Henry, a little paler than usual and his hair in desperate need of meeting a comb. His checked blue shirt is hanging a little loose on him, and Emma wonders if that’s her cuisine to blame for underfeeding him. No doubt that will be just one more complaint on the list when Regina shows up. 

“Okay?” He says, but he gets even paler as he says it. “Did I really kill Mr. Gold? 

“Uh,” Emma flounders in the face of the direct question. She looks to her parents for guidance, but they’re just as dumbstruck by the kitchen counter. “Henry, whatever happened back there, you were trying to save your mom. It might feel really weird, but you were kind of a hero.” 

“He’s my grandpa,” Henry says, in a horrified whisper. “Emma, what’s my dad going to think? Did you tell him?” 

“Not yet,” Emma admits. “He’s pretty sad right now, Henry. We’ll talk to him when he’s had a chance to deal with the first part, okay?”

“Did you invite him to join us?” Mary Margaret asks, putting her mug down on the counter and coming to sit next to Henry on the sofa. 

“Why would I do that?” Emma asks. “He has enough going on right now.” 

“If we’re going to talk about what’s best for Henry, I think his father should be involved,” Mary Margaret says, quite firmly. 

“Regina and I will decide,” Emma corrects her. “We don’t know what the hell we’re dealing with yet. Maybe Henry is too young, maybe he’ll be perfectly normal.” 

“I feel normal,” Henry insists, clutching his grandmother’s hand between his two smaller ones. “I want my mom, though.” 

“She’ll be here in a little while,” Emma assures him. “You should try to be nice to her, Henry. She’s having a really bad day.” 

“I feel kinda tired,” Henry admits. “Can I go nap til Mom gets here?” 

“Sure,” Emma says, a little relieved at the easy out. “Just take your shoes off before getting into bed this time. And you should change your clothes,” she adds, not want to mention anything like blood spatter. 

He stands up and hugs her, before bolting towards the stairs. His shoes come bouncing down a moment later, and any other day Emma might have smiled at the sass of it. 

“Emma,” David says, moving behind the sofa and leaning on the back of it. “We need to talk, right now.” 

“I know,” she groans, slumping into the armchair opposite her parents. “I have the knife here, obviously. Do we know how it works?” 

“As far as I know,” Mary Margaret begins, and there’s a look on her face like she’s going to go up to the board and start drawing a diagram to make it simple. Emma can’t help wish there was a way to make any of this simple, even just a little bit. “Henry is free to walk around and do his normal things. If someone holding the dagger makes a direct command, however, he will have to follow it. He’ll have no power to resist the order.” 

“That’s horrible,” Emma groans. “And it means we have to guard this dagger like his life depends on it.” 

“His life does depend on it,” David says. “And once word gets out that there’s a small, much less scary Dark One in town... well, I don’t like the thought of that one bit.” 

“So we keep it quiet?” Emma confirms. 

“Absolutely,” Mary Margaret tells her. “Ruby,” she adds, calling out to her friend who’s hovering by the television set. “I don’t want you even to tell Granny, okay? Not a word outside this house.” 

“Regina already knows,” Emma reminds them. “And I do have to tell Neal. He’ll probably be able to fill us in more on the dagger, right?” 

“Fine, but that’s it,” David says, his tone not inviting an argument. “Regina and Neal have no interest in letting anyone know something that could harm Henry.” 

“Right,” Emma says, and the running around New York, and the boat, and people dying right there on the floor, hits her like a train. “I’m going to take a shower,” she blurts, handing the dagger to her mother and dashing off to the bathroom before anyone can stop her. 

When the door closes firmly behind her, there’s no holding the tears back any longer. She manages to strip, eyes blurry, and turns the water on scalding and full-blast. She steps into the shower stall and braces herself against the tiles with palms flat to stop her hands from shaking. Raising a kid was scary enough, but the prospect of raising a little Damien has Emma’s chest tightening and her head pounding. 

Someone had better have a damn plan sometime soon; she only hopes it isn’t supposed to be her. 

***

Emma lingers until the hot water runs out, allowing herself to be selfish just this once. Stepping out, she bundles herself up in Mary Margaret’s fluffy pink towels and wipes the condensation from the mirror. 

The dark circles under her eyes aren’t going anywhere soon, but she lingers to wipe off the remnants of makeup the shower didn’t quite get, brushing her teeth to counter the dull acidic taste that’s there every time she swallows. The peppermint doesn’t do much about it, but it kills another couple of minutes away from questioning eyes and expectant family members. 

Pulling her ratty gray robe on over the towel, Emma ventures back out into the living room to discover the other three adults are quietly working together in the kitchen, preparing some kind of meal. Emma watches for a second as Ruby and Mary Margaret exchange easy smiles over chopped vegetables, observes the casual way David grips Mary Margaret’s hips to guide her out of the way as he passes. They’re a team, they were for a long time before Emma was even born. How does she tell them that she doesn’t know how to be part of their merry band, or whatever the hell they’d call it? 

When they notice her, she nods and makes her way upstairs to grab clean clothes. Henry isn’t sleeping, and she didn’t expect he would be. Pulling the robe tighter around her, Emma sits heavily on the bed and after a moment’s consideration, grabs his ankle in a way that’s half affectionate and half awkward. He seems to relax a little at her touch, at least.

“Did you nap?” She asks. 

“Nuh uh,” Henry says, sitting up and shaking his head. “Is there gonna be food? I’m hungry.” 

“Regular hungry or...” 

“Regular hungry,” he confirms. “I haven’t eaten since that bagel you got me.” 

“Right,” Emma remembers. That seems like a different lifetime, not just that morning. “They’re making something with carrots, I think.” 

Henry wrinkles his nose. 

“If it sucks, we can go out later for cheeseburgers, okay? Just don’t say anything,” Emma warns. “It might be a good time to talk to Neal about all of this, too. He was there when your--when Mr Gold--first got the dagger, apparently.” 

“How do you know?” Henry asks, face scrunched up as he attempts to fill in the blanks. 

“We talked, on the boat,” Emma tells him. “But he might want to wait and talk to me alone.” 

“Because I killed his dad,” Henry sighs, and the tears are threatening to spill already. “Emma, have you ever had to... I mean, have you ever done something like that?” 

“Defend myself?” Emma goes with the nicer phrasing. “Yeah, I’ve been there. And everyone you know here has probably had to step up like that to protect themselves or someone they love. You were protecting your mom, Henry. That’s something heroes do.” 

“I don’t know,” he says, and she can see thoughts playing out on his face. “It’s just that my mom killed people and we call her evil for it. Am I evil too?” 

“No,” Emma says, ignoring the flutter of doubt that the magic dagger stuff causes in the recesses of her mind. “Henry, listen. You’re not bad. You’re just not. And you don’t have to become that way, either.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, eyes pleading with her. 

“Yeah,” Emma says, and for the first time she’s pretty glad that he believes everything she says just because some book called her the Savior. Henry looks comforted by her certainty, at least. “Now scoot, kid. I need to make myself look human again.” 

“You should use some primer,” Henry says as he wriggles off the bed. “Under your foundation, I mean.” 

“The hell?” Emma asks, looking at him in confusion. 

“Mom didn’t really have many people to talk to when I was little,” Henry explains. “And I like to ask questions, so she explained stuff to me.” 

“Thanks for the tip, Tim Gunn,” Emma teases, as Henry heads out the door. 

“Please, Emma,” Henry sighs. “Tim does fashion, not beauty.” 

Emma rolls her eyes and throws a pillow at Henry’s retreating back. They might be able to cling on to some normal, after all. 

*** 

Normal is back to being a pipe dream twenty minutes later, when Emma is blowdrying her hair and a cloud of purple smoke appears behind her in the mirror. 

“We have a front door,” she groans, turning to face Regina and shutting the blow-dryer off. “How did you know I wasn’t naked up here?” 

“With the way you dress, I really feel like I’ve almost seen it all anyway,” Regina sighs, but it’s barely registering on her usual scale of venom. She slumps onto Emma’s bed, as if this is in any way a normal situation, as if she were actually someone Emma invited to have cozy chats in the bedroom like a regular galpal. 

“Can I help you?” Emma asks, hands on hips. She’s changed into her favorite pair of jeans and an old white tank top, figuring they can’t really go wrong with the familiar today. 

“How is he?” Regina asks, her eyes reddened from crying, her makeup showing hints of mess around the edges; it’s clearly been tidied up but not reapplied. “Is there any sign of...” 

“What?” Emma asks. “What are the symptoms of being the Dark One?” 

“Has he done magic?” Regina continues, and the desperation in her eyes for a ‘no’ is so overwhelming that Emma actually takes a step back. 

“No,” she offers in reassurance. “He says he doesn’t feel any different. He was hungry, so he’s gone downstairs to eat. Normal kid stuff.” 

“Okay,” Regina clasps her hands, pressing them between her thighs. With slumped shoulders and her usually perfect hair hanging around her face, she doesn’t seem to have much threat left in her. 

“Shall we, uh...” Emma starts to suggest, but Regina doesn’t react. “Did everything go okay? I mean, were you able to do what you needed?” 

“My mother is at rest,” Regina mumbles, still not looking up. Emma sees tears start to splash on Regina’s lap, and looks away in discomfort. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Emma offers, and sure she’ll regret it, she still moves closer to squeeze Regina’s shoulder; it’s the kind of thing she’s seen Mary Margaret do dozens of times. 

“No, you’re not,” Regina corrects her, but she doesn’t shove Emma’s hand away like she expected. “My mother was a difficult woman, and I’ve already grieved for her once, but...” 

“Doesn’t make it any easier, huh?” Emma ventures. “Especially when it happens right in front of you.” 

“Something like that,” Regina says, and this time she stands, letting Emma’s hand fall away without comment. “We should go check on Henry.”

“We?” Emma can’t help the question. She hasn’t seen this sort of solidarity since they were chasing down true love potions and battling Gold. 

Regina hesitates, gloved hand resting on the doorframe as she looks back at Emma. Inhaling sharply, Regina looks up to the ceiling like she’s quietly praying, before answering the question Emma didn’t quite ask. 

“I can’t... Emma, I don’t think you appreciate the scale of what Henry is dealing with now. The Dark One is the one who... let’s just say I wouldn’t be the woman everyone hates without his particular brand of help. And the things his magic can do would terrify anyone with even half a brain cell,” Regina explains. “I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him when he was simply Rumpelstiltskin; I’m going to need your help even more when it’s my own son.” 

“What makes you think I can resist Henry’s puppy eyes any better than you?” Emma demands, hands on her hips. 

“Because you’re the Savior,” Regina replies, her voice entirely hollow. “Or maybe I just don’t have anyone else to turn to.” 

“I’ve heard worse reasons,” Emma admits. “So let’s go downstairs. Henry’s waiting.” 

Regina nods, and Emma falls into step right behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry needs to be tested, and some sort of temporary Dark One-sitting arrangement has to be worked out. That would be a test in a functional family unit, so you can imagine how much trickier it is in the life of Henry Mills...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ladyvivien and writetherest for a sterling beta job! All mistakes are my fault.

Regina’s arrival goes about as well as Emma could expect. Henry runs to her, hitting her in the stomach like a tiny linebacker, but Regina doesn’t flinch before wrapping her arms around him. Although Ruby is tensed up like she might jump Regina at any moment and Emma’s parents remain behind the safety of the kitchen counter, conveniently still wielding knives, to Regina there’s only one person in the room. 

Emma’s phone vibrates in her pocket, and she checks it discreetly. Neal’s message is bleak but quickly read: _it’s done. Meet me for breakfast? Diner at 8._  

She fires off a quick _sure_ , adding an _I’m sorry_ to soften it a little bit, before shoving the phone away again and clearing her throat to get the attention of the room. 

“Uh, so we need to work out what’s best for Henry,” Emma begins, and Regina’s instant frown needs to be headed off at the pass. “By that I mean, Regina and I will make the final decisions. But we want your advice and anything else you’ve ever heard about this dagger first.” 

“And Neal?” David asks. 

“He doesn’t want to see me until tomorrow,” Emma replies. “And we’re all going to respect that tonight. We’re also going to respect Regina’s loss, and try being considerate or whatever.” 

“Though by rights, I should kill you,” Regina says to Mary Margaret, and there’s a flexing of her fingers that has Emma ready to throw herself between the two women, but Regina looks away in disgust first. 

“Please don’t, Mom,” Henry says, pulling away from her. “I don’t want to be the Dark One, and I don’t want you to be bad anymore, either.” 

“Henry has a point,” Ruby interjects. “With respect, your Majesty, I’m not sure putting the Evil Queen in charge of the Dark One’s power is anyone’s idea of a good time.” 

“She’s trying!” Henry argues back, face scrunching in defiance. Emma can’t help but like him a little better now that he’s standing up for the woman who raised him, whatever Emma’s own difficulties with Regina. “And I don’t think I have any powers.” 

“Regina, what’s the safest way to test him?” Emma asks. “Nothing that hurts, nothing that’s gonna get him hooked or whatever.” 

“You have magic too,” Regina counters. “Why don’t you test him?” She looks uneasy, and Emma can’t really blame her when nobody trusts Regina to do magic for anything other than fucking up the lives of others. It has to get tiring, always being the bad guy. 

“You know as well as I do that I have no idea what I’m doing,” Emma replies, not backing down an inch. “So far I’ve watched a doggy dream, which turned out to be a lie. I’ve cast a protection spell that you took out with one fireball and a smirk. And I teleported myself back from the woods earlier. That’s it.” 

“So you need to be trained, too,” Regina muses, looking at Emma the way she might consider a new end table for her big, fancy house. “Unchecked magic around Henry is not an option, certainly not now.” 

“Emma, you are not learning magic from this woman,” Mary Margaret interrupts, moving out of the kitchen without putting her chopping knife down. “I’m willing to overlook some things for Henry’s sake, but she’s not a safe teacher for him either.” 

“But you were happy for me to be schooled by the Dark One?” Emma asks, not thrilled at yet another interruption when it seemed she was getting somewhere with Regina. “You guys have a funny way of picking your allies and enemies. Besides, Regina’s the only other magical person left.” 

“No, she’s not,” the Blue Fairy says, appearing in a flash of blue light over by the window, making Emma yelp in shock. “Although I have many responsibilities, I would be happy to educate you in harnessing and controlling your magic, Princess.” 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Regina snaps, pulling Henry behind her like a crazed gunman just entered the room. The tension in the air is thicker than ever, and Emma feels a headache developing at the base of her skull. On top of that the air is thick with the crackle of what has to be magic, humming at the same frequency as the blood swirling in Emma’s veins. It feels like she’s one blink from disappearing or blowing something up, and that can’t be safe. 

“I was invited,” Blue replies coolly, running a hand over the skirt of her dark blue dress to smooth it out. 

“I thought we weren’t telling anyone,” Emma accuses, looking at her parents in alarm. 

“We assumed you meant--” Mary Margaret begins, but Emma holds up a hand to silence her. 

“I’m not kidding around here,” Emma insists, angered now. “You don’t just go asking your old buddies, not when we agreed we weren’t telling anyone else yet. How do you know we can trust her?” 

“Because we know her. She helped us,” David answers. “She got you to safety through Geppetto’s wardrobe.” 

“Uh,” Ruby says quietly, and Blue looks at her in alarm. “About that. The other day Geppetto stayed late at the diner, he had a few too many drinks, started crying about Pinocchio.”

“He still hasn’t found him?” David asks, hand moving to his hip instinctively, but the deputy’s badge isn’t hanging there. 

“Well, the thing is, he’s not looking for a little boy, is he?” Ruby replies, raising her eyebrows in question as she addresses Blue. “See, Geppetto is extra sad because now he has this guilt on his conscience. That wardrobe was built for two.” 

Regina is looking at David and Mary Margaret with that cruel smile, but even she looks just a little bit shocked along with it. Emma hears the roaring in her ears getting louder, and wills herself not to follow the thought through to the painful end. 

“Is...is that true?” Mary Margaret stammers, staring at Blue like she’s never seen her before. “I could have stayed with my daughter?” 

“It was Geppetto’s price for building the wardrobe,” Blue confesses. “I tried to reason with him, but you have to understand how terrified everyone was about the incoming curse. And since that curse was only affecting them because of their loyalty to you, Snow White, well... can you blame anyone for wanting to spare their child as you did? 

“I didn’t spare her!” Mary Margaret explodes. “She grew up alone, thinking no one wanted her! God knows what else she hasn’t told us to protect our feelings, but--” 

“Enough!” Emma shouts. “We’re not doing this now.” She feels the sweat on her palms, the taste of vomit rising in her throat. A hundred times since Henry walked back into her life, Emma has thought about the ‘what if’s and ‘if only’s. To find out that even more of them were so close and snatched away might just be the last straw, and she cannot afford to fall apart tonight. 

She looks up, not at her parents or her friend, but at Henry. He peeks out from behind Regina’s back with love and concern just radiating from him, and Emma feels her chest tighten in response. If that’s an expected comfort, the sympathy she sees in looking at Regina’s face is as fleeting as it is surprising. A moment later it’s like Regina’s permanent scowl never shifted, but Emma knows what she saw, and damned if it doesn’t make the tight feeling pass, letting her take the necessary deep breath to keep going. 

“Motherf...airy, or whatever,” Emma says. “Thanks for the offer, but when it comes to Henry, I only trust Regina to do what’s best for him. And we’d appreciate if you don’t tell anyone about the change.” 

“People will speculate when Rumpelstiltskin’s death is widely known,” Blue warns. 

“Can’t we make a pact, now, to lie?” Regina suggests. “My mother told me that if Gold had died outside of Storybrooke, the magic would simply have boiled off into the ether. If we all agree to claim that happened, it will protect Henry from any power-grabbing, surely?” 

“Why am I not surprised that deception is your first choice?” David mutters, throwing Regina a disgusted look. “Makes it easier for you to get your hands on the power, I suppose.” 

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Charming,” Regina spits. “Deception, like power, is only useful as a means to an end. It’s not the goal.” 

“And I suppose you don’t want power, either?” Ruby snorts. 

“She doesn’t,” Mary Margaret answers in a terribly small voice. “What Regina wanted was vengeance. Power was only ever a way to get there.” 

A stunned silence settles over the room as Regina stares open-mouthed at Mary Margaret. Regina recovers quickly, but the tension in the room reduces, just a little. 

Emma picks up the thread, before the fighting can start all over again. 

“So, we lie? Tell everyone that Hook killed Gold, and nobody looks at Henry?” 

“I don’t like it,” David grumbles. “Lies are always found out. Haven’t we just proved that?” 

“Isn’t anybody going to ask me what I want?” Henry pipes up, stepping away from Regina and into the center of the room, roughly the same distance away from each adult. Emma feels for him in that moment, like an unfortunate reality show contestant, ready to be pulled one way or the other according to what other people want. 

“Of course, Henry,” Regina answers first, smiling at him as best she can, though Emma sees how weak the motion is. “But the fairy leaves. This is family business.” 

“Snow?” Blue asks, clearly annoyed at being put in her place by the Evil Queen. 

“Regina’s right,” Mary Margaret replies, tilting her jaw upwards in that confident way she has now, the way that says she’s used to speaking with absolute authority. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else. But for now, just family.” 

“I’ll go, too,” Ruby offers, as Blue disappears from sight with a ‘crack’. “I have a shift, anyway.” 

“Thanks, Ruby,” Emma says, before anyone starts falling over themselves to start redefining family or whatever. “I’ll be by in the morning to see Neal. See you then.” 

“What do you want, Henry?” Regina asks when the door closes behind Ruby. 

“I want to know if I have magic or not,” Henry answers after a moment. “Mom, I’m scared. If it’s in me, like it’s in you...” 

“And in me, Henry,” Emma reminds him, crossing the space to ruffle his hair. “You don’t have to be scared, okay? Let’s all take a seat. Regina?” 

“I’m not sure how to do this, exactly,” Regina admits. “But Henry, if anything hurts or doesn’t feel right, just tell me. Right away, do you understand?” 

He nods, and Regina sits on the sofa too, on Henry’s opposite side. She takes his left hand, and Emma instinctively takes his right. David and Mary Margaret watch breathlessly from the armchairs, and Emma closes her eyes to block them out for the moment. 

“Concentrate,” Regina says softly, and Emma feels such a sudden sense of comfort that relaxes the tensed muscles in her shoulders and back. This voice, this care and tangible love, is what she wanted for the baby plucked from her arms by an impatient nurse all those years ago. This is better than any fairy, than anyone else who might possibly offer help to Henry; this is the only person who loves Henry more than Emma herself is learning to. 

“Magic is about emotion,” Regina continues, and Emma frowns at hearing those familiar words again. Henry wriggles a little on the sofa between them, though whether it’s nerves or excitement Emma can’t tell. “Henry, I want you to picture something that makes you feel safe. One of your favorite toys, or something you have with you here, whatever you first thought of when you heard the word ‘safe’, okay?” 

“Okay,” Henry murmurs, concentrating so hard Emma can hear him straining. 

“You too, Emma,” Regina mutters. “You need to be tested.” 

Emma starts at being addressed directly, and she feels her brain scrambling for anything that makes her think of safe. She skims through mental images of her gun, but dismisses it. Her car, for a second, because of all the freedom it offers, but neither feels right on a gut level. Eventually, as Henry sighs beside her, Emma seizes on the thought of her baby blanket, purple ribbon and all. 

“You feel the tingling in your hands?” Regina whispers. “Like someone is tickling you, very gently?” 

“Yeah,” Emma and Henry whisper back. 

“Now imagine your hands touching the thing you’ve thought of. Picture yourself reaching out, taking hold of it and pulling it close to you. Don’t think of anything but that. Picture. It.” 

Emma feels the burning in her cheeks, the familiar embarrassment like she’s being asked to write the answer on the board in front of the whole class, and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t know it. To fail in front of her parents is one thing, and Henry will understand if he can’t do it either, but something about Regina’s scrutiny puts the real chill down Emma’s spine. She has to do this, she just has to. 

 _Blanket. Blanket. Blanket_ she says to herself like a mantra, picturing the box in the bottom of her closet where it’s not-so-neatly folded away. She knows seeing it again will provoke discussions she still doesn’t feel ready for, especially with her father who hasn’t had the benefit of giving her an Enchanted Forest 101 field trip like Mary Margaret has, but when it comes to safety it’s not like Emma has much else to choose from. 

Just as she’s giving up, Emma feels the magic charge inside her, feels it as clearly as watching the battery meter on her phone suddenly climbing to full. She opens her eyes knowing she’ll see the blanket there on the battered coffee table, and sure enough it is, wisps of purple smoke fading around it as she stares; she’s aware of her parents looking on with silent pride, holding hands in the knowledge that their daughter can now perform the magic equivalent of 2+2. 

Just as she turns to Henry there’s a godalmighty crash and suddenly a twin bed has landed on top of the table, narrowly missing their shins in the process. 

“What the--” Emma blurts, but Regina cuts off any storm of cursing. 

“Henry!” Regina exclaims. “You did it!” 

“You teleported your bed?” Emma asks. 

“It’s somewhere I feel safe,” Henry says with a shrug. “I kind of miss it, really. I used to make the coolest blanket fort you’ve ever seen, Emma. See, you have to use--” 

“That’s enough, Henry,” Regina says, patting him gently on the shoulder now that she’s released his hand. She looks over his head at Emma, worry written all over her face. “We’ve confirmed you definitely do have magic ability now.” 

“What else can I do?” Henry asks, springing out of his seat and grabbing a scented candle from the windowsill once he pushes past his abandoned bed. Regina makes it disappear with a lazy flick of her wrist, smiling fondly as she does. No doubt it’s back where it belongs. 

“Henry, fire is too dangerous,” Emma warns, but he screws up his face and stares at the wick until pop, the damn candle is lit. He blows it out and grins at his family. 

“This is so cool!” He yelps, dashing back and forth in the living room, clutching at his hair as he tries to think of what to do next. Emma looks to Regina for instruction, finding her halfway out of her seat, biting her bottom lip as her eyes track Henry. 

“Henry!” David snaps as Henry runs halfway up the stairs, only to throw himself back down. His eyes are tightly closed, and just as all four adults move towards his falling form, he hangs in the air a few inches off the ground, laughing when he realizes he can levitate. 

Emma knows she should be in angry mom mode, but she can’t help but smile at the joy on Henry’s face, and for the first time since finding out she could, apparently blast magic portals into existence, Emma feels a little bit of hope about her own abilities. Is this, with Cora and Gold dead, and Regina seemingly calmed into behaving for Henry’s sake, the peace they’ve all been desperately seeking since the curse broke? 

One look at Regina suggests that no, unfortunately it isn’t. She’s practically vibrating with what has to be anger as she marches across the room and takes Henry’s arm to put him back in a standing position, feet firmly on the floor. That’s why Emma’s so surprised to hear the same patient tone as before. 

“Tell me, Henry,” Regina says, crouching to address him face to face. “That book of yours, what would you say are the most common words, repeated in almost every story?” 

“Uh, ‘I will always find you’?” Henry replies, scratching his head for a moment. Regina looks away from him just long enough to glare at David and Mary Margaret. 

“Try again,” Regina urges. 

“Oh,” Henry realizes, because he’s nothing if not a smart kid. “Is it ‘magic always comes with a price’?”

“Maybe we can lighten up?” Emma suggests. “I mean, he is just a kid, Regina.” 

“Henry,” Regina pleads, ignoring Emma. “Those words are very, very true. Every time you do magic, even the smallest or simplest spell, there’s a cost. And that cost might not even be paid by you, but it will be collected.” 

“But how?” Henry asks. “Who’s going to make me pay?” 

“The world will,” Regina explains. “It always does.” 

“It didn’t stop you doing magic,” Henry accuses. “You still do it now. What if it’s only good magic? Or just things that are fun?” 

“Sweetheart,” Regina says, taking his hands in hers. “I promised you I would try to give up. And I’m still trying, every day. You don’t ever want to end up like this, do you?” 

“I guess not?” Henry answers. “But it’s not exactly cool to suddenly have superpowers and then not be able to use them.” 

“Kid,” Emma says, leaning over the couch to get a bit closer. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since the curse broke? There’s gonna be chances to use magic. For good, or whatever. And in the meantime, just like getting your license or learning to swim, you have to find out how to be safe first.” 

“So basically we’re gonna take something fun and make it really boring?” Henry sighs the question, and his grandparents laugh at the melodrama of it. 

“That’s life, Henry,” David tells him. “It can’t all be adventures all the time.”

“And besides,” Mary Margaret warns, lifting the dagger from the sofa in mock warning. “Any misbehavior and we can make you clean up after yourself.” 

Henry rolls his eyes, but Regina throws herself at Mary Margaret’s raised arm, knocking the dagger flying across the floor. 

“Don’t. You. Dare,” Regina spits, and her hand seems to act on autopilot when it grips Mary Margaret’s throat. Emma freezes at the unexpected attack, but a few moments later as David attempts to pull Regina off his wife, Emma snaps back into action. It’s just as well because it takes two of them, strong as they both are, to get Regina all the way off Mary Margaret. 

“Mom?” Henry whimpers, his expression one of pure shock. Emma guesses from his horrified expression that it’s one thing to read about the Evil Queen and another to see her in action. 

“You will not threaten my son,” Regina snaps, struggling against Emma and David’s grip on each of her arms. “I won’t let you control him with magic, I won’t!” 

“Jesus, Regina,” Emma grunts. “Calm down!” 

Regina might be kind of petite, but at the moment she’s fighting like a caged tiger. Emma knows if she uses magic now there’s no way they can hold on to her, and just as she thinks that, a surge of white light comes out of her fingers where she’s clinging on to Regina’s arm. Maybe it’s the distraction, or something about Emma’s magic is actually soothing, but Regina stares at the glow of it for a moment before relaxing. 

“We can’t do that to him,” Regina says, her tone murderous but she’s no longer trying to wriggle out of their hold on her. “He’s just a little boy.” Suddenly there’s a choking sound, and Emma is stunned to see Regina dissolve into sobs. 

“Oh, Regina,” Mary Margaret is the first to react, and Emma looks at her now in open-mouthed shock. What kind of person responds to being choked with sympathy? “I didn’t think.” 

“What didn’t you think about?” David demands, letting go of Regina which allows Emma in turn to steer her back towards the sofa and let her sit down. Regina covers her face with her hands and continues to sob. Emma watches, hands hanging awkwardly at her side, until Henry comes over and kneels next to his mother, rubbing circles on her back like he’s clearly comforted her before. 

“Can I...?” Mary Margaret asks, but Regina only shrugs in between gasping sobs. 

“What?” David insists, crossing his arms over his chest, stretching out his t-shirt a little more with the movement. He’s the picture of distrust right now, and Emma thinks she might finally see the family resemblance. 

“Regina’s mother,” Mary Margaret begins. “I didn’t get to know her that well, really. But when Regina came to stay at the palace in preparation for the wedding... I guess I saw some things I wasn’t supposed to see. I loved to sneak into Regina’s rooms, you see. She had such beautiful, grown-up things and I wanted... anyway.”

“You always did...” Regina’s words are interrupted by a hiccuping sort of sob, her face still hidden and the sound of her voice muffled. “Like telling my,” another sob. “Secrets,” she finishes, and Mary Margaret flushes in shame. 

“I thought all mothers loved their daughters,” Mary Margaret continues. “So when I saw Cora doing magic on Regina, I just told myself it must be to help her. I thought... a mother has to love her daughter.”

“She did!” Regina howls, wiping her tears and looking up at Mary Margaret in defiance. “She loved me. And she wanted what was best for me.”

“We know now she didn’t have her heart,” Mary Margaret reminds her. “It wasn’t your fault, Regina. She could never love you the way you deserved.”

Emma sees the lunge coming this time, and gets in the way to hold Regina down. This time it only takes a firm hand on Regina’s shoulder, and the fight in her just evaporates. It has been an especially long day.

“Nobody uses the dagger to control Henry,” Emma says, her voice quiet but firm. She’s kind of surprised at how sure she sounds, how adult. “But kid, no screwing around on us, okay? You’re going to have to be the good kid we all know you are. We have to be able to trust you.”

“Okay,” Henry says, nodding sincerely before fighting back a yawn. Emma checks the clock on the wall and sees that it’s already approaching nine. “I’m tired.”

“I bet you are,” Emma says, and Regina reacts to their conversation at last, reaching for Henry and pulling him into a hug. “You want to go to bed?”

“Can he come home?” Regina asks, voice cracking. Emma looks to her parents, at a loss for what the hell is best. She doesn’t think a volatile Regina being left alone is particularly smart, that’s for sure.

“Maybe not tonight,” Mary Margaret suggest. “But if you wanted to stay here tonight, we’d have no objection.”

“No objection?” Regina repeats with a sneer. But she looks down at Henry in her arms and relents, sighing so deeply it comes right from her toes. “I can just go home.”

“Please stay, Mom,” Henry insists, his voice muffled. “We can go home tomorrow.”

Emma hears the words, but the stab of betrayal in them comes a moment later. She’s not quite clutching at her chest like a bad actor might, but she suddenly understands the impulse.

What was she expecting? For Henry to be happy forever living on cereal and crashing in a shaky double bed with her? To put up with awkward shuffling around in search of privacy after ten years of living in an honest-to-God mansion? Emma is starting to get her head around this family thing, but she knows on a gut level which would win out for her, after years of crashing in horrible places just to have a bed for the night. And after everything that’s happened in the past few days, Emma feels less qualified to be a mom than ever; why not give it up and let the one person who’s actually qualified take the strain?

“You take my room, with Henry,” Emma offers, moving towards the kitchen and grabbing the mini fire extinguisher from the wall. “Although you might want to take this up with you.”

“If he sets anything on fire, I can put it out with _magic_ ,” Regina reminds her, and Emma lowers the extinguisher to the ground, trying not to flush with embarrassment.

“Well, we did say safety first,” Emma attempts to cover. “Let me grab some PJs and a pillow for the sofa first, okay?”

She leads them up the stairs, aware that her parents are already muttering between themselves, meaning Emma no doubt has another unpleasant talk awaiting her. She heads straight for her dresser, pulling sweatpants and a baseball shirt out to combat the chill that settles over the downstairs at night.

“The bathroom is there,” Henry explains to Regina, pointing to the tiny ensuite in the corner. “Well, the real one is downstairs, sort of the opposite of our house.”

“Thank you,” Regina says, and Emma expects her to be talking to Henry, but when she looks up Regina’s gaze is levelled at her.

“Need something to sleep in?” Emma offers, but Regina clicks her fingers and she’s in dark blue silk, her clothes neatly folded on the room’s solitary chair. “Okay, you’re teaching me that one so I can sleep in later in the mornings.”

“Just picture it,” Regina reminds her. Emma closes her eyes, and this time the tingling happens instantly; when she opens her eyes she’s wearing the pajamas that were in her hand. “The hard stuff comes later.”

“Nice,” Emma murmurs.

“Seductive, isn’t it?” Regina asks, an eyebrow raised in what might be warning. “Henry, these things are fine while we’re learning skills, and practicing control. But it’s important to learn to only use magic when there’s no other option.”

“I’m gonna get my Hulk pajamas!” Henry whoops before either of them can say ‘no’. Sure enough he summons the clothing from Regina’s house with a simple closing of his eyes and a dramatic wiggling of his fingers. Regina just about manages to stop rolling her eyes as Emma catches her in the act.

“Goodnight,” Emma says firmly, moving towards the door as Henry scoots under the blankets. Regina’s joining him as Emma turns out the light, but all she can see is the expression that flickers over Henry’s face. One moment he’s her sweet and freakishly smart little boy, and the next there’s a glimmer of... something. Something like metal and the shiver down the spine after a horror movie watched too late at night.

Emma shakes her head and closes the door behind her. She’s letting all this magic stuff get into her head and that’s not going to help anyone. Walking downstairs in careful strides, she reminds herself that the worst is probably already over.

She picks up the dagger from where Regina knocked it across the bare floorboards, and without anything more than a nod to David and Mary Margaret, who are mostly hiding their impatience, Emma crosses the room and locks it in the mini-safe she keeps in a cupboard above the refrigerator. She sets a new combination, and despite the love and assurances her parents have given her ever since the curse shattered, Emma puts her body in their line of sight to ensure she’s the only one who knows it.

“Right,” she sighs, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge and taking a healthy mouthful straight from the carton. “Let’s have it.”

“This isn’t a permanent solution,” Mary Margaret speaks up first. “And if there’s any trouble at all with Regina, we will call in Blue again. I think it’s important we agree on that now.”

“Call her if you like,” Emma says, accepting defeat. “But she couldn’t do a damn thing to Regina the last time we jumped her with magic, so forgive me if I don’t bet the house on the fairy, okay?”

“It’s late,” David groans, rubbing his big hands over his face, suddenly sounding like someone’s dad. “Why don’t we start this all over again in the morning? After Emma’s seen Neal.”

“Nobody called while I was upstairs?” Emma checks, as she makes her way to the sofa and drops her pillow on it. “The town hasn’t developed, I don’t know, sinkholes or something because of all the magic-doing?”

“All quiet,” David assures her. “But we should take the rest while we can.”

“Good idea,” Emma says, pulling a blanket from the trunk in the corner. “Guys, this is going to be okay, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Mary Margaret says, pulling Emma into a surprisingly strong hug. It hides Mary Margaret’s face, but not soon enough to avoid Emma catching the hint of a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's come up in comments and PMs that Emma could just take Henry out of Storybrooke to negate any magic powers. Don't worry, this is a potential outcome our characters will have to deal with in coming chapters. Give Regina a break for noticing just yet, she just buried her mother!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after a very long night before. Emma has news to break to Neal, Snow has her doubts, and Regina is just trying to be a mother in the midst of chaos. We also meet Tamara, and this is when her story diverges slightly from canon, too.

 

It’s the creak of the floorboard that wakes Emma, but she doesn’t open her eyes until slender fingers grip her shoulder and gently shake her.

“I have an alarm,” she grumbles, turning to face the cushions on the back of the sofa.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret whispers. “We have to talk.”

“Seriously?” Emma says, her voice muffled by the pillow. “Because we haven’t done any of that in the last 24 hours.”

Then the scent of freshly-brewed coffee makes its way past the cotton smushed against her face, and Emma groans at the fact that her mother does not remotely play fair.

“I made it with hazelnut,” Mary Margaret says, biting back a smile as Emma rolls back over and reaches for one of the mugs. “Now grab a jacket, we’re going out in the hall so we don’t wake anyone.”

“I have to get up, too?” Emma whines. Mary Margaret pulls the mugs away, enticing Emma out of her makeshift bed. She stumbles after her mother, pulling on David’s jacket that swamps her, and only when they’re sitting on the stairs outside does Mary Margaret hand over the caffeinated goodness. Emma takes a big slurp and waits, blinking to clear her head.

“I was awake all night,” Mary Margaret begins. “I think we all need to think a little harder about how we look after Henry. I’m not sure Regina is the best influence if we want to keep him on the good side.”

“You really think of yourselves that way?” Emma blurts. “Like Team Good and Team Evil? You guys must have had a field day when Brad and Jen split."

“This is serious, Emma,” Mary Margaret reminds her, sipping at her coffee. “I know you think you know Regina, but if we get this one wrong, the damage could be permanent.”

“You told me I was wrong about her before,” Emma says, taking another gulp from her own mug. “And when you were the ones who were wrong about that, it caused way more damage. Axis of evil with Mommy Dearest.”

“Optimism is fine,” Mary Margaret concedes. “You’re my daughter, after all; the product of true love. But you know my history with Regina. You know how badly I wanted to see her redeem herself, to turn away from the darkness of magic.”

“I wasn’t there,” Emma responds. “But every story someone tells me sounds a lot like people told Regina to change and then didn’t do anything to actually help her do it. Over here that’s called setting someone up to fail.”

“You think we cheated her?” Mary Margaret snaps. “Emma, she did all this to us. She’s why everything in our family is broken. She killed people I love, and I don’t have to ask her to know she still doesn’t regret it.”

“Seems to me if she wanted you dead, or David, she had 28 years to kill you both. I mean, why keep him in a coma?”

“Honestly, I never could stand his attempts at conversation,” says Regina’s voice from behind them. To her credit, Mary Margaret doesn’t even flinch, but Emma jumps at the sudden intrusion.

Regina has her own mug of coffee in her hands, cradling it. Emma turns around and a mean part of her is relieved to see that even Regina doesn’t look so polished first thing in the morning. Her face is wiped clean of all makeup, and her hair is past tousled and into straight-up messy, strands sticking out on either side of her head. Emma thinks of Medusa, and that stops her grinning pretty fast, because you never know where these stories come from.

“I came out to check if you wanted breakfast,” Regina offers after the awkward silence stretches out. “It’s only polite to repay you for letting me stay with Henry.”

“I’m going to the diner,” Emma replies.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to talking about me, then,” Regina says. “I need to go home anyway, once Henry wakes up.”

“Can you keep him with you today?” Emma asks, despite the way Mary Margaret stiffens beside her. “I don’t know how much Neal stuff I’ll have to deal with, and I have some Sheriff whatever to do down at Gold’s store.”

“Your father and I--” Mary Margaret interrupts.

“You two should go check on Belle,” Emma says, not sure where she’s getting the guts to give out orders from. “I know she doesn’t remember him, but it’s still the right thing to do.”

“We can ask Blue about her memory and if there’s a magic solution,” Mary Margaret suggests. “I doubt Gold went to her for help. I’ll go wake your father.”

Emma watches her mother stand and return to the apartment, but remains seated on the stairs. She’s both surprised and somehow a little bit not when Regina steps across and takes the vacated spot next to Emma.

“How did he sleep?” Emma asks, frowning as she tries not to think about the restless nights she had in foster care after seeing way too many things no child should have to.

“Fine, at first,” Regina supplies. “But he woke around three, some kind of nightmare. Then he started crying and it took a while to soothe him. I think the reality of what he did finally hit.”

“You were hoping the magic would distract him?” Emma realizes. “That’s why you agreed to test him so soon.”

“I thought it might give him something happier to focus on, yes,” Regina admits. “But he’s less interested now he considers it something that he ‘stole’ from his dead grandfather.”

“He’ll get over that,” Emma says with conviction. “Although I’m kind of wishing I hadn’t pushed the whole ‘family’ thing so hard.”

“You and me both,” Regina agrees, her mouth pinched in displeasure.

“No kidding, Regina, we can’t screw this up,” Emma warns. “If you pull some witchy crap on me and try to recruit Henry to Team Evil, I will come after you.”

“You think I’m the threat here?” Regina asks, actually grabbing Emma’s elbow to make them face each other in the stairwell. “Did you think I wouldn’t work it out?”

“What?” Emma demands, genuinely confused. “Work what out?”

“The easiest way to ensure Henry can’t do dark magic is to take him across the town line; that’s a world without magic, after all,” Regina says, and the defeat in her voice makes Emma feel queasy. It’s like all those weeks ago, with Regina in prison and resigned to that wraith-thing sucking her soul. “I assume that’s why you wanted to discuss this separately with... Henry’s father.”

“You think I’m gonna bail,” Emma says. “What, was letting you sleep over supposed to be some kind of last goodbye?”

“It occurred to me,” Regina admits. “It’s kinder than most other people would have been.”

“That’s not why I’m meeting Neal,” Emma tells her. “If anything, I just need more intel on the Dark One thing, and he’s seen it all firsthand. And I want to make sure he’s okay, I guess.”

“Your parents assume you still have feelings for him,” Regina says, scrutinizing Emma’s face for a reaction. “I suppose I don’t have to tell you that this would be a bad time to be distracted by some scruffy boy from your past? Henry needs our full attention.”

“Not an issue,” Emma tells her, and even more so than when she shrugs off her parents, for some reason it’s important that Regina believes her. “Henry is my priority now. Everything else takes a back seat. Which, just so we’re clear, is one place Neal will never get me, ever again.”

Regina rolls her eyes, which is roughly equivalent to making a normal person laugh, so Emma takes it.

"I don't want to have to leave," Emma admits, wondering if her parents have made the same deduction as Regina. Was that the real reason behind Mary Margaret's sleepless night? "I only just found my family, and..."

"Right," Regina says, back to brusque in a heartbeat. "Plus, in the real world things like paperwork do matter."

“You gonna be okay with Henry?” Emma asks, getting off the uncomfortable subject. “I know you have a lot of stuff to deal with, if you need the alone time...”

“Why are you so considerate of my feelings?” Regina asks. “Everyone else is probably planning a parade. Your mother just killed mine, remember.”

“Which is why someone has to be considerate,” Emma argues. “And she seems to really have thought giving Cora her heart back would solve everything.”

“Snow always thinks she knows best,” Regina answers. “In many ways, she’s still the headstrong, spoiled child I tried to prevent her becoming.”

“I think spoiled is kind of a given when you’re a freakin’ princess,” Emma counters. “And let’s not kid ourselves you were trying to make her anything. Except killed by a Huntsman.”

“Graham,” Regina reminds her.

“Let’s not,” Emma mutters, because she can’t think about the parts that were all too real. Keep it to stories and she can function around these people. “Can I come see you for more magic lessons this afternoon?”

“I don’t want to overtax Henry,” Regina worries aloud.

“Maybe it’s better to do it when he hates it?” Emma suggests. “Make it like piano lessons or something, suck all the joy right out of it while he’s still... you know.”

“That’s cynical, even for you,” Regina remarks. The flare of protectiveness is there, plain as day, but she considers Emma’s suggestion all the same. “It would be sensible to end any notion that magic is a game, though.”

“Well, I have a breakfast,” Emma says, because suddenly it seems ridiculous to be inches away from Regina, talking like friends sitting on a stoop somewhere. “So if you can handle Henry from here--”

“I’ve been his mother for ten years,” Regina snaps. “But yes, come by the house after you’re done.”

Emma steps back inside the apartment, and wonders yet again what the hell she’s gotten herself into.

***

Neal isn’t waiting in the diner when Emma jogs up, five minutes late and already dreading their conversation. She asks Granny if he’s made an appearance yet but gets a shrug in response. With so much pending for the day ahead, Emma cuts her losses and heads through to the B&B part of the building, seeking out Neal’s second floor room without thinking twice.

“Hey,” she says, pushing the door open after three knocks get no response. “You forgot we had breakfast plans?”

Neal squints at her as she pulls back the curtains, looking about as rough as she’s ever seen him, stubbled and with what looks like mud smeared down one side of his face. She’s about to curse him out when she registers the empty bottle of rum on the floor by the bed.

“Don’t worry,” she covers. “I guess it wasn’t an easy night.”

“Nope,” Neal grunts, throwing himself back against the pillows. “Morning kinda sucks so far too. No offense.”

“None taken,” Emma replies. “I’ll go grab us some takeout, okay? You should shower.”

“You always did like me in just a towel,” Neal teases, but it couldn’t be any clearer that his heart isn’t in it.

Emma leaves her leather jacket on the chair in the corner and makes her way back down to Granny, who offers a stern look but a little sympathy with the box of pancakes.

“Your fella okay up there?” Granny asks, handing over a small jug of syrup. “You bring the jug back down when you're done, Sheriff.”

“He’s not... Neal is not my fella, okay?” Emma doesn’t have the patience for twenty questions and wink, wink, nudge, nudge. “Tell Ruby I said ‘hi’,” she adds, to soften it a bit. There’s not really much excuse for being rude to an old lady, after all.

“Whatever you say,” Granny sasses as Emma heads for the stairs again.

Neal is cleaner and much more awake when Emma returns, and instead of the towel he teased about he’s wearing a faded band shirt and baggy gray sweatpants. They sit on the bed and split pancakes, almost like old times. Emma sits cross-legged near the foot of the bed, and Neal takes up his position by the pillows, legs dangling off the side.

She hasn’t missed him, exactly, but something in Emma is glad to have a little part of the world she understands back in her life. No matter who Neal turned out to be, the memories are of a regular guy and a life that Emma knew what to expect in, even if what she expected turned out to be kind of crappy most of the time.

“At least you have your appetite,” Emma comments as they demolish the first six pancakes in record time, eating with their fingers. “Did everything go... okay?”

Neal shrugs.

“I spent a lot of my life thinking I’d never see him again,” Neal confesses, his voice so thick it sounds like he needs to cough. “I mean, he was immortal and... stuff. So there was always a chance he’d use magic and come after me.

“And then I came to this world and August filled me in on the curse... it was like I had all this time to find a way to make peace with my father. I guess I was just too scared.”

“It’s obvious he loved you,” Emma offers. “I mean, he did all this to come find you. At least you know that, right?”

“S’pose,” Neal mumbles, stuffing another chunk of pancake in his mouth. “Anyway,” he continues when he’s done chewing. “At least Cora died before she could take the Dark One’s powers. Like I said on the boat, nobody wants any part of that.”

“About that...” Emma begins. “I know maybe it looked like Cora stabbed him, but that’s not exactly what happened. You okay to talk about this now?"

He nods, but it’s obvious that Neal is in pain.

“See, Cora was already dead. Mary Margaret put her heart back in--that’s how she explained it--and it made Cora just keel over, I guess.”

“So who had the dagger?” Neal asks. “Because if it was Regina, we should probably all kill ourselves now, save her the time and effort of going on a rampage.”

“You know Regina?” Emma asks, because it doesn’t jive with her understanding of their stories.

“Apart from her fireball routine yesterday? Nah, but I know of her,” Neal half-explains. “We have a few people in common, I guess you could say. And that way crazy lies. I mean, she can be a real bunny boiler, from what I heard.”

“Oh, you can talk, I suppose?” Emma accuses. “I don’t think any of us gets a free pass on bad behavior, Neal. And yeah, she’s the Evil Queen, but there's more to her than that.”

“So, she’s the new Dark One?” Neal presses, the first hint of suspicion showing in the lines on his face.

“Not Regina, no,” Emma admits.

“And it’s not you, right?” Neal keeps up the questioning, and Emma’s finding it hard to swallow, even though there’s nothing in her mouth. “You wouldn’t be this freaked out if it was Snow White or Prince Charming...”

“It’s Henry,” Emma confesses, dropping her head for a moment to gather her strength again. “He uh, grabbed at the dagger when it looked like your dad was trying to kill Regina, and, well... it was a total accident.”

“An accident,” Neal repeats, jaw slack. “And you’re saying that Henry--the kid I didn’t know I had until five minutes ago--is somehow the new Dark One? He, uh, he killed my father?”

“Crazy, right?” Emma tries. “I mean, not any crazier than somehow the exiled kids of Snow White and Rumplestiltskin making a baby in the first place, but--”

“This is bullshit!” Neal erupts, leaping from the bed and starting to pace the limited floorspace. He kicks out at the closet on each lap, face contorting in a way that makes him look so young and confused that Emma barely recognizes him. “No way. I’m not, I can’t... fuck this!”

“Neal!” Emma protests, slipping from the bed to get near him, maybe offer a comforting hand. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Neal turns on her like she’s crazy, grabbing Emma’s upper arms and practically shaking her. “Do you have any fucking idea what that thing does? What it makes you? A monster, Emma. Our kid is gonna be a goddamned monster.”

“You’re being overdramatic,” Emma snarls, shoving him away. “And don’t you dare put your hands on me like that, you hear me?”

“Says the girl who could drop me with one punch?” Neal is up in her face again, and Emma feels her temper spike. She’s all for being compassionate to the bereaved, but there’s a reason she doesn’t do all this feelings crap.

“Don’t make me show you that I still can,” Emma warns, and Neal takes the hint, backing up a little. “I know this sucks, and nobody is more out of their depth than me, you know that. But we’re gonna need you. Or at least your advice.”

“You need me?” Neal repeats back to her, something familiar in the way his face softens.

“I don’t care if she does, but I do,” says a voice from the door, which Emma has only just noticed is open.

“Tamara!” Neal says, exhaling in something like relief before crossing the small space to hug her. “You came.”

“I did,” Tamara says, her eyes on Emma over Neal’s shoulder. “Is this why you said I didn’t have to?”

“Tamara, I’m sorry,” Emma says, holding her hands up. “I came to check on how Neal was doing, and we kind of got into it over Henry.”

“Your kid,” Tamara says, nodding in understanding. “This is just custody with the ex stuff?” She confirms as Neal releases her from his embrace, taking his place at her side.

"I should get going," Emma offers, because the room suddenly feels too small for the three of them. "I'm going to clean up down at the pawn shop, I'll bring the keys back for you when I'm done. I don't think anyone will object about it passing to you."

"Can you let people know..." Neal trails off, glancing at Tamara and clearly adjusting his choice of words. "That any stuff my father took from them? Well, I want them to have it back."

"All of it?" Emma asks, stunned at the easy generosity of the gesture.

"Well, everyone should remember what used to be theirs," Neal replies, scrunching his nose as he thinks. "And I don't want anything to do with his shady deals."

"I'll work something out," Emma promises, moving past them both to get to the door. "And Henry's gonna want to see you at some point, okay?"

"Not today," Neal answers, voice strained. "But maybe we can make some time for the park tomorrow?"

"Thank you," Emma says, with genuine relief. "Tamara, it's nice to see you again. Look after him, okay?"

She’s halfway down the hall when she hears the footsteps following her. Emma turns, smile fixed in place.

“I left my things in the car,” Tamara explains, lying through her teeth. Emma shrugs and continues downstairs, but as she steps out into the parking lot, Tamara grabs her elbow. Emma’s braced and ready, so she comes to a stop instantly, resisting the urge to lash out at Tamara, who suddenly looks very nervous.

“Listen,” Emma begins, sighing at the thought of another jealous ex accusation.

“No, you listen,” Tamara says, leaning against the side wall of the B&B. “I know you’re not after Neal, so you can drop the defenses a little, okay?”

Emma pretends to do just that, breaking eye contact with Tamara only to take in her perfect cheekbones and glossy hair. Neal has certainly developed some seriously good taste in women since he was 24 and stealing watches. Emma pats self-consciously at her own hasty ponytail and wishes she’d thrown on something more appealing than her slightly-dirty jeans and a sweater that actually belongs to Mary Margaret.

“You drove all night to get here?” Emma asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Six hours or so, yeah,” Tamara answers. “Your fiancé calls to say he buried his father, you get on the road, right?”

“Right,” Emma replies, like she’s ever been in that situation. “Did you need to know something about the town, or...?”

“I know what Neal’s going to tell me at some point very soon,” Tamara confesses, shoving her hands in the pocket of her smart trenchcoat and looking at the ground for a moment. “About magic. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.”

“I’m not sure keeping secrets is exactly healthy for a relationship,” Emma offers, like she’s Dear Fucking Prudence all of a sudden. She can’t help it, but for all the weirdness of the situation, there’s something about Tamara that she likes, something kindred in her that Emma recognizes, beyond the man they have in common.

“August came to me, when Neal refused to come to Storybrooke before,” Tamara explains. “I thought he was crazy, I mean, straight up crazy. But he showed me stuff I couldn’t explain, and I came to understand what was going on here.”

“I don’t even know what’s going on here and I’ve been living here for months,” Emma challenges. “And magic is one thing, but do you know--”

“That you’re the daughter of Snow White?” Tamara says, laughing softly. “Or who it is that Neal actually buried last night? You bet your ass I do.”

“Which might be a problem for us,” Emma says, just a hint of threat in it as she looks around the parking lot for potential backup. “If you knowing means that even more people find out.”

“I track magic,” Tamara says, clenching her fist for a moment at the thought of something she’s not telling. “It’s how I bumped into Neal in the first place. But when I got to know him I realized that magic isn’t something he wants anything to do with.”

“So you lied to him,” Emma sighs. “He hates that even more.”

“We’ll talk it out,” Tamara continues, moving towards her SUV that’s parked in the first bay. “We love each other, that’s what matters in the end.”

“You’re not tracking magic because you want to... I don’t know...experiment on people, are you?” Emma asks, watching Tamara pull a small case and a laptop bag from the trunk.

“Nope,” Tamara says smoothly, and Emma isn’t sure if there’s a lie there or not. “I’m just a rare thing in this world.”

“What’s that?” Emma demands, kicking out at a rogue soda can that someone’s littered the parking lot with.

“A believer,” Tamara suggests. “It’ll be nice to see the real thing up close.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a lot of fun for you,” Emma replies. “I have some stuff with my kid and his mom to fix, but once you’ve talked to Neal, maybe we should all have some kind of meeting? My parents, you guys, maybe a couple of others.”

“Sounds fine,” Tamara says. “I should really get back to Neal.”

“Great,” Emma says, her mind already whirring. “I’ll call him later.”

***

Gold’s shop doesn’t take too long to clean, given that Neal has already cleared the worst from the back room.

Emma enlists Ashley and Ruby to arrange the returning of everyone’s possessions, and Nova shows up just in time to be roped into the plan. She apparently has a spell that will determine the true owner of any item, and can identify a few dangerous weapons that Emma agrees to lock up in the safe for now. They really have enough trouble on their hands without arming more people.

It takes three hours of Emma’s time, in all, and when she leaves the other women have it all running smoothly, a steady trickle of people coming for their things as word makes its way around town; Emma could almost get to like this kind of efficiency.

***

She swings by the bakery on her way to Regina’s, going everywhere on foot for a change because the weather is fresh and Emma finds walking buys her quiet thinking time she just doesn’t get at home.

Armed with sandwiches that contain really more salad than anything else, and a few pastries that she hopes will make it past Regina’s iron curtain of healthy nutrition, Emma knocks on the door of the mansion feeling surprisingly light despite the new burden on her shoulders. Somehow, Regina has become the easiest part of her life to deal with; at least with Regina, Emma knows more or less what to expect.

“Hey,” Emma greets Regina when the door finally swings open. “I brought lunch, although it’s a bit late so if you ate--”

“We haven’t, yet,” Regina admits, stepping aside to welcome Emma into the house. Emma makes it three steps into the foyer before she notices the telltale signs of destruction.

There’s what has to be a scorch mark rising up the wall alongside the staircase, big and black and angry against the otherwise spotless cream walls. A large puddle has formed under the dripping chandelier, and Emma sidesteps it just in time, turning to Regina open-mouthed for an explanation.

“We had a small issue about settling back into a routine,” Regina says, hands on her hips. She’s changed into a pair of gray pants that hug her hips perfectly, and Emma wonders for a moment if that’s magic or just really good tailoring. The white blouse was probably immaculate when Regina slipped it from the hanger earlier, but now it’s streaked with soot, just like Regina’s expertly made-up face.

“Henry!” Emma bellows, her voice echoing through the house before she can think twice about it. To have her anger back, something so normal in her life, is like taking her first breath after a couple of days underwater. This isn’t about Neal or the past or dead bodies on the floor. This is about someone misbehaving and Emma finally being the one who gets to dish out a round of ass-whooping.

“I don’t want to upset him,” Regina murmurs, standing at Emma’s side. “He already hates me, and I just can’t--”

“That shit ends now, Regina,” Emma warns her, as footsteps sound from the floor above their heads. “I know you’re having a tough time, but you’re the goddamned Evil Queen. And if we don’t nip this in the bud, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“And how do we tell the difference between a child talking back to his mother and the actions of the Dark One?” Regina demands, ready to argue as ever.

“Well, one of those things doesn’t burn a damn house down, so let’s start there,” Emma suggests. “I have no clue what I’m doing, but I know that if Henry got anything from me, he’ll be able to run riot if either of us is a soft touch.”

Henry appears at the top of the stairs.

“What the hell, kid?” Emma yells up at him, ignoring Regina’s tut of disgust. “What happened to being cool while we worked things out for you?

“I couldn’t help it,” Henry pleads, and he actually looks more upset than angry right now. “I just remembered what it was like, when I lived here and nobody believed me. They thought I was crazy, Emma.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina says, and it’s not the first or the last time. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“Your mom has said some mean things to me, too,” Emma continues. “But we’ve all said things we wish we hadn’t. Like when you wanted to build an arsenal in the apartment, and two seconds later you found out your Mom didn’t kill Archie.”

“He wanted to what?” Regina hisses. Emma waves a hand of ‘not now’.

“I didn’t know how to stop it,” Henry explains, gripping the bannister and making his way slowly down the stairs, step by cautious step. Emma doesn’t like the visual of him above them like this, but she lets it slide.

“Of course,” Regina says, and Emma can’t grudge her this moment of being the good cop. “The first thing I should have taught you is how to control it.”

“We were all pretty tired last night,” Emma excuses her easily, because she’s still weighed down by the things they’ve done and have yet to do. “Maybe that can be what we work on after lunch. I brought that cherry thing you like from Mrs. Boule’s.”

“Cake for lunch?” Regina groans.

“Healthy sandwiches first,” Emma argues back. “Salad in there, the whole deal.”

“Let’s eat in the kitchen,” Henry insists, reaching the foot of the stairs and grabbing at Emma’s sleeve to bring her along. “Mom, do we have any iced tea?”

Regina nods as he passes, her eye catching Emma’s for a moment. Clearly, they all still have a long way to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to learn how to do magic safely, and how to control it. Emma has just as much to learn as her son, but in Regina's emotionally fragile state, is she really up to the job of teaching? The first suggestions of magic's price also become clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Especial love to ladyvivien and writetherest for beta duty <3

After lunch, Regina leads both Emma and Henry upstairs. If the kid weren't there, Emma could bust out an inappropriate joke or two to relieve the tension that hangs thickly in the air, but he's chattering about fireballs and how they don't even burn your fingers, and that's kind of the most amazing and awesome thing in the history of forever, really. Emma nods along and says nothing 

"In here," Regina instructs at the end of the hall, showing them into a large and airy room populated only by toys and a bunch of art supplies. The smell of smoke from downstairs doesn’t reach this room, instead it smells like elementary school: play-doh and glue and something that’s just somehow childhood; or at least what the rooms of the few kids who ever invited her over to play smelled like.

"I haven't played in here for so long!" Henry exclaims, before rushing across the room and picking up a toy train that was clearly bought for a much younger child.

"This would make a pretty nice master bedroom," Emma points out, eyebrows raised in question as she shoves her hands in her pockets.

"It used to be," Regina confesses. "But when I knew Henry was coming, I did some remodeling. Where we come from, every prince gets a playroom."

Emma considers what accommodations she could have made, if keeping Henry had been an option back then. She could have picked out the cleanest cushion on the sofa she ended up crashing on for three months after prison, maybe. She's forced herself not to think about that lately, with the new responsibility of living with Henry. It’s hard to process that all the horrible things she's heard about Regina--about the Evil Queen--turned out to be true. Today, though, Emma only sees the slightly frazzled single mom she met that first night in Storybrooke.

"Right," Regina says, back in control and just a little stern. "Let's burn off some of your excess magic to get this place ready.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asks, because at heart she’s still the asshole who sits in the back of the class and chews her gum too loudly and doesn’t want to learn a damn thing.

“Henry,” Regina says, just about keeping the exasperation from her voice. “Look around at how there are cushions everywhere.”

“Sorry, Mom,” he sighs, looking around the room and blushing just a little.

“It’s fine. Now concentrate on making them all in two neat piles, over by the fireplace,” Regina continues, and his eyes light up in understanding. At first nothing moves, but then one cushion drags slowly over the floor, scattering Lego blocks in every direction as it goes. Gradually the other cushions move towards the fireplace at different heights and speeds, and by the last few Henry has them whizzing incredibly fast and stopping with complete precision on top of the pile.

“This is so cool!” Henry whoops.

“Now you, Emma,” Regina says, turning towards her. “Let’s put that Savior magic to work on getting the stuffed toys all in the same corner.”

If a kid can do it, then Emma sure as hell can. She’s broken curses, jumped portals, and done spells with no more instruction than ‘feel it’, so Regina can cool it on the patronizing tone; well, maybe after Emma gets this first challenge right. Emma looks around, ready to grumble that there’s twice as many bunnies and piglets and bears as there were cushions, but the competitive streak--that Regina ignites in her without fail--sparks to life in an instant.

She concentrates on the nearest toy--a giraffe whose neck is barely attached to its body--and waits for the tingling to start.

Nothing. Shit.

For the first time in her life, Emma has a grain of sympathy for those unfortunate guys who just couldn’t after a few too many drinks. And with that comes a sense of shame so profound that it quickly turns to anger. Emma can’t stop the charging inside her and before she can open her mouth to ask how, the poor stuffed giraffe hits the furthest wall with enough force to separate head and body for good.

“Well,” Regina says after Henry yelps at seeing one of his things destroyed. “It will come as no surprise which one of you most needs to work on their control. Next one, Miss Swan.”

“Don’t start that again,” Emma grumbles, selecting her next target. This time it comes easier and one by one she sends toys barrelling into a pile in the corner. Regina gives Henry a new task and completes the tidying with a few flicks of her own wrist.

“Warmed up?” Regina asks them both.

Emma looks at Henry, and they both nod. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and Emma ditches her unzipped jacket, laying it over the back of an armchair that looks comfortable enough to live on. While they prepare, Regina closes her eyes and the room shifts like the deck of a boat rolling under their feet; not exactly a fun moment for Emma’s instant sense of seasickness.

A long wooden stage rises across the center of the room, the light hanging from the ceiling retracts and safer, recessed lights appear along the wall. The shades fall in perfect unison, hiding their practice from the outside world, and by the time Regina’s changes are done, Emma can think of only one thing.

“Oh my God, this is just like Dumbledore’s Army,” she breathes, looking at Henry in excitement, only to be met with a blank stare. “Oh come on, kid,” Emma encourages. “Book Five, remember?”

“Henry didn’t read Harry Potter,” Regina says in clipped tones.

“Because magical people are a corrupting influence?” Emma mocks, while Henry stares at the floor.

“No,” Regina admits. “If you must know, a lot of those details hit a little too close to home for my liking. I didn’t think it was... wise to add fuel to the fire. As you saw, Henry only needed one book to bring my curse crashing down.”

“Too close to home?” Emma questions. “You’re not saying...”

“I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the woman had some insider knowledge,” Regina says. “And as you know, people do tumble through portals every so often.”

“Well,” Emma says, absorbing the new information. “At least I know what to get the kid for Christmas this year.”

“We have to all make it to Christmas alive, first,” Regina warns. “Which means I need you both to concentrate very hard for the rest of the afternoon.”

***

The harder they work on control, the harder it seems for Regina to hold on to hers. By the time six o’clock rolls around, purple magic is shooting from her in short, sharp bursts like the milk steamer at Starbucks.

When Henry’s concentration breaks for the third time in a row, even after two bathroom breaks and a plate of cookies that Emma made some embarrassing noises over her first taste of, Regina throws her hands up in complete exasperation.

“You have to try harder, Henry,” she scolds. “The magic you have in you could kill someone if you keep letting it loose like this!”

It’s absolutely the wrong thing to say, and Regina knows it just as soon as the words have left her mouth, judging by the horrified expression on her face. Henry promptly bursts into tears and runs from the room.

“Hey,” Emma says after a minute. “He’s a kid. It’s gonna be tough on him.”

Regina doesn’t respond, beyond starting to gather up the items they’ve been practicing on, organizing everything into plastic boxes or placing them on the shelves along one wall.

“Regina?” Emma tries again, unsure now if she should have gone after Henry. “He’s just being cranky because it’s not easy. It’s okay to be strict with him.”

“Is it?” Regina demands, rounding on Emma so quickly that she doesn’t see it coming. Regina’s got that crazy gleam back in her eye and Emma feels both terrified and relieved that she isn’t packing her gun today; there’s enough chaos without her having to get the drop on Henry’s mom. Regina keeps advancing until Emma’s backed against the fireplace wall. “Maybe you’re just pushing me that way to make him hate me once and for all.”

“Calm down,” Emma orders, her voice hardly shaking at all. “Kids need discipline, right? I mean, you know more than me.”

“No, Miss Swan, let’s hear your expert opinion,” Regina insists, grabbing two handfuls of Emma’s shirt. “You tell me about all those wonderful foster parents you had. Did it make you happy when they were harsh? Did all that discipline help you make good choices and avoid prison? Did it?”

“Get your hands off me,” Emma tells her, pushing back without too much force. “Henry doesn’t need to come back in here and see this.”

“Just in time for you to be the ‘cool mom’ again, huh?” Regina asks. “You think I can’t see through you?”

“I’m trying to be a team, for his sake!” Emma yells, and Regina backs up for half a second in shock. “But if you’re going to start second-guessing yourself every five seconds, he’s never going to stay good.”

“What would I know about being good?” Regina whispers, and something about the scary side of her just collapses, leaving only a terrified girl to do the talking. Emma hasn’t seen that kind of emotional shutdown since Phoenix, and it’s just as unsettling here. “Maybe Henry will be better than me. But I don’t want to do those things to him, Emma. I don’t.”

“Hey,” Emma tries to soothe. “Regina, hey, come on.” Had to figure the dead mommy stuff was going to bite them all on the ass sooner rather than later, with Cora’s body barely cold. “I don’t know either of you that well, but you’re not like your mother. You’re not.”

“I loved her,” Regina admits, the way someone else would confess to sleeping with your boyfriend or running your dog over in the driveway. “And she loved me. That’s why she had to do it.”

“I know,” Emma replies. “And you were supposed to love her, Regina. But between us, we are going to find a way to help Henry without, uh, treating him that way. You said the first night I met you that you were strict, and Henry seemed fine then.”

“Did anyone ever...?” Regina wants to know, her dark eyes searching Emma’s face for an answer before she can even form the words.

“Hit me? Yeah,” Emma says, gritting her teeth and pushing on. “I’ve been locked in a cellar, slept outside with the dogs, too. But nobody ever used magic on me, at least. I guess Cora...”

“Yes,” Regina whispers, before gathering herself and hiding the terror behind that determined face Emma knows all too well. “And it was horrible. I want you to promise me now: if there’s ever a time where magic is the only way to... on Henry... it has to be you who does it.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Emma whines, seeing another fuckton of responsibility being placed on her shoulders. “You of all people should know it’s not that easy.”

“Then you have to learn!” Regina shouts.

“Okay,” Emma promises as Regina lets go and straightens herself up. “We’ll start again tomorrow, okay?”

“Here?” Regina answers.

“Yeah, you’ve got the space,” Emma confirms. “I’m going to take Henry for dinner, make sure he knows we’re all okay. Did you want to...?”

“We’ve all had enough of each other for one day, I would think,” Regina says, but there was a moment where it looked like she wanted to say yes. Emma can’t blame the woman for not wanting to be left alone in this big, lonely house, but doesn’t press the issue.

“I’ll go find Henry, he’ll come say goodbye before we leave,” Emma offers, but Regina shakes her head.

“Let him go,” she says. “Distract him with something he likes, reward him for the long day. Just don’t go completely overboard with sugar.”

“So just the three desserts then?” Emma replies, forcing a smile onto her face. Regina gives her a pointed look, and balance is restored, at least temporarily.

“Thank you,” Regina mutters as Emma’s walking out the playroom door. On balance, Emma decides it’s better to keep walking, and pretend she didn’t hear.

***

“Mom really didn’t want to come?” Henry asks for the fourth time as they walk towards Granny’s, darkness starting to settle over Storybrooke’s sleepy streets as they go.

“She has to tidy up, I guess,” Emma answers. “And she’s still sad about her Mom, so we can’t expect her to be ‘on’ all the time, kid.”

“I know I got mad,” Henry says, frowning at the thought of his earlier tears. “But I liked that, you know...”

“What?” Emma asks, already thinking of the double cheeseburger that has her name on it.

“It was kind of cool that it was the three of us,” Henry mumbles into her arm, like he’s telling her a secret and can’t even risk someone lip-reading from across the street. Emma ruffles his hair while she buys time for a response.

“There are going to be some tough spots, Henry,” Emma reminds him. “Your mom and I don’t always get along, and sometimes it just sucks when grown-ups tell you what to do all the time.”

“Tell me about it,” Henry groans. “But did you notice, at the end?”

“Notice what?” Emma says as they approach the fence outside the diner.

“I was really upset when I left,” Henry says, in that ‘oh Emma, you’re an idiot’ tone that he clearly picked up from Regina. “But I didn’t do any magic by accident. The control must be working already!”

“Oh yeah,” Emma says, wondering how the kid is the only one to have pieced that together so far. “Sounds like a good start to me. And you know what a good start deserves?”

“What?” Henry demands, as they step inside the warm diner and friendly smiles greet them from every side.

“Milkshakes,” Emma tells him.

***

Neal texts when they’re walking home from dinner, and Emma makes sure Henry isn’t looking when she opens it, just in case.

_Sorry abt this am. Dinner 2mrw?_

Emma considers, wondering if maybe she shouldn’t just cram her possessions in the Bug and get the hell out of Dodge. Maybe they can have Henry’s birthday parties and every Christmas at the town line, or he can just get really good at Skyping his grandparents. Then she thinks about Regina and that sad look every time Henry walks away with Emma, and reconsiders.

_Sure. My apartment @7? Bring Tamara._

Then she remembers one important detail she didn’t stress earlier.

_We’re keeping the Henry news quiet. Tell T if you want but no one else, ok_

_Sure. C u 2mrw_ he replies, and Emma shoves her phone back in her pocket. Maybe Henry will be tired enough to turn in early again, and she can have a beer in front of the TV like a normal person.

She laughs quietly to herself at the thought of something that boring being normal, being something to aspire to. Henry looks at her in confusion for a moment, but he’s had enough explanation for one day.

***

The beer and sofa plan gets nixed when Emma pops upstairs after a quick shower to change into clothes that don’t smell like smoke and magic. She sits on the bed to change and next thing she knows it’s dark and Mary Margaret is pulling the blankets over her, muttering a goodnight that Emma can’t quite manage to return before her eyes slip closed again.

***

Emma can’t help stretching all the way downstairs, the relief of a real sleep at last flowing through her like a gentle high. Getting Henry up in the morning should be a piece of cake, since he’s used to the micromanaged world of Regina, but even though David and Mary Margaret are up and eating breakfast in the kitchen, the kid hasn’t stirred.

“Up and at ‘em,” Emma teases, prodding him in the ribs where he’s curled up under the blankets. “You will be going back to school soon, kid, so don’t blow your good habits completely.”

She gets nothing but a grunt in response.

“Fine, you have until the Poptarts pop. If you’re not up and waiting, I’m eating yours,” Emma informs him, shuffling over to the kitchen and taking the mug of coffee her mother offers with something approaching delight. “God, isn’t sleep amazing?” She sighs.

“He was calling out in his sleep last night,” Mary Margaret whispers, because apparently even five minutes of peace, love, and understanding is just too much to hope for in this whackadoo town.

“Sleeping curse stuff?” Emma asks, looking back over her shoulder before grabbing the box of poptarts and pulling two from the foil and shoving them in the toaster.

“No,” Mary Margaret admits. “Although you are sharing a house with three people who’ve been under, so you might want to invest in some earplugs, just in case.”

“I thought love and candles cured it?” Emma mocks, winking at her father who has the decency to blush a little. “Henry, get your little butt in gear, please!”

“Welcome to parenthood,” David says, scooping a forkful of eggs into his mouth and trying not to laugh. “You need us to help with Henry today?”

“Just for this morning?” Emma asks. “Obviously, if he shows any signs of... anything, you call me. Or Regina.”

“We’ll call you,” Mary Margaret insists. “Ah, now the little prince has surfaced.”

Henry doesn’t look rested at all, in fact he looks like he’s been up all night. Emma’s stomach does a depressing flip at the sight of his sad little face.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, walking over to him and placing her hand awkwardly on his forehead. She isn’t sure what she’s looking for, honestly, but all she can hear are the words ‘magic’ and ‘price’ on a maddening loop inside her head.

“My head hurts,” he grumbles. “And my throat is all scratchy.”

“I can hear that,” Emma says, hoping she seems comforting or motherly in some way. “Listen, I can’t take the day off right now. And you still have to do the lesson with your mom later.”

“I know!” Henry snaps. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going.”

“Easy, Henry,” David says, coming over to scoop the boy up over his shoulder. “You’re going to have a nice warm bath, see if that helps. Do we have any junior aspirin?”

“I think so,” Emma takes a guess. “In the bathroom cabinet.” She’s been buying what Henry needs as they go along, there’s no point stocking the whole apartment when this arrangement can’t be anything more than temporary. “If not, I’m sure one adult pill won’t kill him.”

“Give him half,” Mary Margaret instructs. “Emma, don’t worry about it. You go be the Sheriff. And we’ll call if Henry needs you.”

“Okay, I’ll be back at lunch to take him to Regina’s,” Emma reminds her mother. “And if it looks serious, or magical...”

“We’ll. Call,” Mary Margaret insists. “He’s probably just overtired.”

“I hope so,” Emma says, gathering up her jacket, badge, and gun. There’s a niggling doubt, a guilt she hasn’t felt since the first time she shoplifted something, but she forces it down and tries to do the adult thing. Henry will probably be fine by lunchtime, anyway.

***

The station is a mess, and when no calls come in as an excuse, Emma has little choice but to roll up her sleeves and do something about it. Only when she’s halfway through shifting stacks of paper does she remember yesterday’s lesson and realize the opportunity to practice.

Feeling self-conscious in the quiet, she opens Spotify and cranks some Missy Elliott through her PC’s tinny speakers, loud enough to block the world out for a while. As ‘One Minute Man’ rings out between the brick walls and metal bars, Emma stands tall in her jeans and black turtleneck, rolling out her neck muscles before turning her attention to the empty file boxes thrown haphazardly in one corner.

She barely has to think before the boxes swirl around in mid-air, settling in a neat row along the floor, lids propped behind them, ready and waiting for whatever Emma sees fit to fill them with. She hesitates for a moment, humming along with Missy, before settling on the ring binders that have been tossed around the space by careless hands. Getting them to move is one thing, but she flashes on the image of them all sorted by color, and that’s how they fall neatly into two of the boxes.

Emma smiles. Martha Stewart better watch her ass.

From there it’s easy to clear every surface and remove every trip hazard from the floor. Even the blankets in the empty cells end up folded, and while she’s a little worried about it going all Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Emma embraces her inner Mickey Mouse and turns her powers to actually cleaning the dusty and dingy space. It wasn’t ever sparkling, even under Graham’s reign as Sheriff, but in a world where Emma has neither time nor space to herself very often, she’s determined to get one thing exactly as nice as it can be.

Getting water to shoot from her fingertips is one thing, but when she can make the water soapy to clean the gray-smeared windows, Emma actually laughs out loud. She joins in by hand with the cleaning supplies she finds in a locker in the back, but when it comes to mopping the floor, there’s really only one way to go.

Lifting chairs and trash cans with a flick of her wrist, Emma has them levitate while the mop dances around doing its thing. This is, hands down, the coolest thing she’s ever done. It’s like the day she first learned to fire a gun properly, only a hundred times better. Emma Swan, of the multiple-F report cards and a prison exit interview that suggested a career in fast food as her only option, is a goddamned magical badass and a princess to boot.

When the call comes in about Perdita getting loose and chasing schoolchildren again, Emma’s almost sad to leave her sparkly clean workplace behind. The minute she opens the door to the cruiser and surveys the takeout debris and dozens of items that really don’t need to be in a car in the first place, Emma knows what her next magical practice session is going to be.

***

Once Perdita is safely back in her own yard and Emma secretly repairs the latch on the gate that was easy for the overgrown spotted menace to push past, it’s time for lunch and checking on Henry again.

She calls Mary Margaret, who answers almost right away.

“We brought Henry out for a walk,” she explains, and Emma hates herself for being suspicious about why, but the instinct is there all the same. “He’s feeling a bit better.”

“I can come meet you guys?” Emma suggests, looking up and realizing that she’s only two streets over from Mifflin.

“Or we could bring him to Regina’s,” Mary Margaret offers, and this time Emma knows the offer is intentional, probably just another chance to snoop. But it does mean not going out of her way, so Emma sighs inwardly and relents.

“Fine,” Emma says. “I’ll meet you there whenever you’re ready.”

She hops back into the cruiser and pulls it around onto Regina’s fancypants street, still occupied by the richer part of their society, since in any world it seems the slightly evil will always band together and profit from anyone more evil than they are.

Parking in Regina’s driveway, Emma jogs up to the front door and hopes Regina has thought about providing lunch. Emma hasn’t eaten since her morning poptart, and her stomach is rumbling in anticipation.

Ringing the doorbell gets no response, and when the second round of knocking doesn’t provoke any signs of life, Emma sighs and walks around to the back garden. If this is Regina’s idea of making Emma know her place and use some kind of servants’ entrance, there are going to be some serious words, no matter how upset Regina has been.

But nope, no sign of her in the gardens or the kitchen itself, and Emma is troubled to find the kitchen door unlocked. Magic or not, someone an entire town hates can’t really afford to be lax about home security. Maybe Emma will treat Regina to an official Sheriff’s reprimand, just as soon as she finds her.

“Regina?” Emma calls out. “It’s, uh, Emma? Henry will be here in a minute.”

Nothing.

Door by door, Emma checks the downstairs of the house. “Regina?” She shouts again, a little trickle of unease rolling down her spine.

The stairs, then. Emma climbs quickly and quietly, listening for signs of life. With anyone else she’d assume they’d just popped out for groceries, but Regina’s every move in town is filtered back by text or Sheriff’s radio by bitter citizens outraged at her having any freedom at all, or expecting some kind of attack as she picks out tomatoes.

“Hey, your Majesty!” Emma shouts, worried now but attempting to cover it. Maybe Regina has gone out, or maybe this mansion is so big that sound just doesn’t travel. All the doors are open on this floor, apart from two. One is at the very end of the hallway, the one Emma recognizes as their magic playroom. The other is about halfway along, and Emma is pretty confident that Regina’s behind that if she’s anywhere at all.

She knocks, because a fireball to the face is nobody’s idea of a good time, but when there’s no sound, Emma barges in, hand on her holstered gun, just in case.

In the anti-climax of the year, Regina is, in fact, there; or at least her hair is, sticking out from under the duvet. Emma lets go of the gun, mustering up one hell of a big sigh, and does the domestic equivalent of walking up to the tiger cage at the zoo and sticking her hand through the bars.

“Uh, Magic 101? Student reporting for duty?” Emma says, before grabbing a fistful of dove gray sheet and yanking it. Only when her hand is in motion does she consider that Regina might not even be dressed.

She is, although only in a thin black camisole and the kind of comfortable flannel pajama pants that Emma would have bet her car Regina had never touched, never mind owned.

“Go away,” Regina says, the words little more than a grunt. Emma leans over the bed, confirming that the thickness of Regina’s voice is accompanied by the redness and discarded tissues of someone who’s spent most of the day so far in tears.

“You don’t want to let Henry see you this way, do you?” Emma sighs, wondering when exactly she became head cheerleader for an entire freaking town. Could she actually be less qualified for a role? If it were anyone but Regina in this state, Emma would go grab a bottle of bourbon and forget she ever saw it; unfortunately sharing a kid brings seemingly endless extra responsibilities.

“My mother died,” Regina says in a terribly small voice. “So forgive me if I don’t want to deal with your messes today, Emma Swan.”

“I thought you wanted to be Henry’s mother?” Emma challenges, taking a step back just in case.

“I am his mother,” Regina replies, and it’s about as hollow as anything Emma’s ever heard. “But nobody seems to care about that fact but me. I’ll fight for him; I’ll do anything for him... but I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t keep watching him walk away. With you.”

“Get up and have a shower,” Emma suggests. “And then we’re going to make some food with Henry, and you’re going to teach us more control stuff. If you want to fall apart, you’ll have to do it later. Henry needs you.”

“Where is he?” Regina demands, sitting up suddenly. She’s even more of a mess like that, hair plastered to one side of her head, a telltale white line down her chin from where she’s drooled in her sleep. Her eyes are smeared with cried-off mascara, and Emma clocks the near-empty bottle of Grey Goose wedged between the pillows. Regina must be feeling about as bad as she looks.

“Shower,” Emma says. “David’s bringing him over. He hasn’t been feeling too great this morning.”

“Why would I care how Charming feels?” Regina asks with a sneer, before raising a delicate hand to her no doubt pounding head.

“Henry isn’t feeling well,” Emma corrects, rolling her eyes.

“What?” Regina yelps. “What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You should have _called_.”

“It’s a headache and a scratchy throat, okay?” Emma says, hoping to calm things. It gets Regina scrambling out of bed at least. “My parents looked after him and he’s already feeling better.”

“Headaches after performing magic are not a small thing,” Regina snaps. “You should have told me, right away.”

“I didn’t know that!” Emma bites right back, voice raised. “You should have told me if there were things to look out for!”

“You ask!” Regina yells. “I know you’re incompetent in most things, but you ask, dammit.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Emma shouts before she can stop herself. “I might not be Mother of the Year? But maybe if you weren’t the Evil Fucking Queen, and if you hadn’t done all this unbelievably horrible crap, the kid I gave up would have stayed given up!”

“So you don’t even want him?” Regina accuses, advancing on Emma and poking her on the arm with one surprisingly strong finger. “You’re taking the only person I love from me, just because of who I used to be?”

“You don’t want me?” Henry says from the hall, and both Emma and Regina whip their heads round in sudden horror.

“Kid!” Emma pleads. “We didn’t mean it like that!”

“You don’t want to be my mom?” Henry asks, and although he’s wrapped up in a coat and sensible clothes, he still looks like he’s shivering.

“She does,” Regina interrupts, stunning Emma into silence. “We both do, Henry. Of course anyone would want to be your mother.”

“But you said--”

“We were just fighting,” Emma cuts him off, picking up the baton that Regina’s handing her. “It comes out wrong when people yell. Come on, you can show me around the kitchen while your mom gets ready, okay?”

“Gram and Gramps are waiting downstairs,” Henry confesses, looking over his shoulder. “They heard yelling and wanted to stay to make sure everything was okay.”

“I don’t want her in my house,” Regina says, low and threatening. She’s saying it to Emma, who nods in understanding. This piggy-in-the-middle routine is going to blow if it keeps up, but right now she’s going to do what it takes to keep the peace.

“Let’s go, Henry,” Emma says, moving towards him.

“Are you okay, darling?” Regina asks, though in her current state she seems embarrassed about getting any closer.

“I’m fine,” Henry insists, before coughing. “Mom, take a quick shower, okay? Emma really can’t cook.”

“Don’t burn down my kitchen,” Regina warns. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

***

David and Mary Margaret are actually halfway up the stairs, and don’t seem remotely embarrassed when Emma catches them.

“Are you coming home?” Mary Margaret asks.

“No,” Emma answers, making her way downstairs and shooing them ahead of her. “We’re going to eat here, deal with Henry’s magic stuff, and then Neal and Tamara are coming over about 7.”

“Should I prepare something?” Mary Margaret asks. “And who’s Tamara?”

“She’s my dad’s fiancée,” Henry fills in, trudging along behind Emma, who ignores Mary Margaret’s disappointed “oh” in response.

“We’re going to sit down and talk about Henry, and what all this means for the immediate future,” Emma assures them. “I’m going to ask Regina, too, obviously. If she’s feeling up to it. So food would be great, Mary Margaret. I’ll grab some dessert after this.”

“She sure felt up to yelling,” David mutters. “But I think what you’re doing is smart, Emma. Cooperation is absolutely the way forward. We all want what’s best for you, champ,” he adds, squeezing Henry’s shoulder as they all reach the front door.

“Thank you for today,” Emma says to them both. “I really couldn’t do all this without you guys.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Mary Margaret responds, pulling Emma into a hug. “You’re doing so well, and we’re so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Emma mumbles into her mother’s shoulder, enjoying the comfort for just a moment. “Wait ‘til you see the housekeeping tricks I found out I have this morning.”

“Does this mean you’ll be helping around the apartment?” David asks, teasing in his tone. “Because we’re starting to get concerned that your laundry hamper is forming colonies.”

“Ha ha,” Emma says, opening the door to see them out. “But it turns out I might not be completely useless after all.”

“You never have been,” David assures her, with a quick squeeze of her elbow. “Except the cooking thing.”

“Okay, last crack about my culinary training for the day!” Emma orders. “Are you okay with the afternoon shift, Deputy?”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” David says, with a mock-salute. “Henry, go find some salad for Emma to burn.”

“Hey!” Emma calls after her retreating father, but he simply waves at her before taking Mary Margaret’s hand and leading her down the path. All things considered, Emma thinks as she closes the door and follows Henry to the kitchen, she could do a lot worse.

***

Emma doesn’t grumble much as she heats the soup she found in the fridge, and it smells kind of amazing from the second she opens the container. When Henry insists he’s okay to stir, she gets to work cutting up the fresh bread still bagged on the counter, trying not to comment that Regina might be getting her groceries by magical means now. Henry hasn’t said much about his whole addiction thing since the events in Gold’s shop, but there’s a chance that this will set him off again. Emma has no intention of being the only person using magic around him, not until long after she feels like she knows what she’s doing.

Looking much more refreshed, Regina joins them just as the soup is ready to serve, her wet hair slicked back and her face scrubbed clean. The dark circles under her eyes suggest there wasn’t much sleep between the vodka and the crying, but Emma doesn’t let her gaze linger.

The flannel pajama pants are gone though, replaced by black jeans. The t-shirt is one of those designer ones that Emma would never waste the money on, but with the way it sits on Regina, maybe that’s worth reconsidering. Even with a hangover and an attitude problem, the woman still knows how to dress in a way that makes Emma feel like she just crawled out of the reject pile at Forever 21.

Henry looks better as Emma nudges him towards the stools and takes over to pour the soup into bowls. He accepts Regina’s hug without complaint, and she takes the seat next to him, apparently happy to be waited on by Emma.

When Emma sits down, Henry blabs first.

“Emma did magic at the station this morning, didn’t you, Emma?”

“Did you?” Regina asks. “And yet I see no smoke on the horizon, and I didn’t hear any screams.”

“I was practicing my control,” Emma lies, just a little. “You know, do a magic thing, then control it.”

“Eloquent,” Regina answers, spooning some soup into her mouth. “Henry,” she says, turning away. “Tell me everything about how you’re feeling.”

“It’s nothing,” Henry mumbles, taking a bite of bread to stall for time. “My head feels like it’s buzzing? But the buzzing hurts.”

“Like the time you fell out of the tree?” Regina asks. “Or was it more like the time you had that nasty fever?”

“The tree,” Henry says, scrunching up his face to remember. Emma quietly watches the ease with which Regina navigates all this, with the wealth of memories and experience to back it up. “Sort of.”

“That’s good,” Regina assures him. “Beginners usually have that problem. The magic makes the cells in your body vibrate at a different frequency. Well, in a way.”

“Is it always going to do this?” Henry asks. “Emma doesn’t have it.”

“No,” Regina answers for Emma. “But her magic has been in her body from the moment she was born. Yours is brand new.”

“So it’s like when I got my flu vaccination and still got sick?” Henry muses, slurping at his soup after the question.

“You’re a very clever boy,” Regina says, her voice softened with pride.

“Is there anything we can do about it?” Emma asks. “Or will it wear off?”

“I’ll make him a drink after we eat,” Regina explains. “Nothing more than a herbal tonic, really. But you’ll feel perfectly normal again, darling.”

“So it’s not... you know, Dark stuff?” Emma presses.

“No,” Regina explains. “My mother told me she experienced it, and I did too. Our magic has nothing to do with the Dark One.”

“Okay,” Emma says, with no small amount of relief. She turns back to her lunch, suddenly eager to press on with their day. She can’t deny the childish part of her that wants to do cool magic stuff again, especially with Regina around to control any potential damage.

“Eat up,” Regina instructs, as though hearing Emma’s thoughts. “I’m going to teach you some very important things this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Emma says, just as Henry adds his own “thanks, mom”. She can’t help smiling when Regina nods at each of them in turn to acknowledge the thanks.

***

“I’m just going to grab some pie from Granny’s,” Emma explains as Henry runs into the apartment building.

Regina has changed and made herself up for what should be a really casual dinner, after a fun but difficult few hours of learning different ways to breathe and think to stop magic in its tracks. Emma has to admit she was surprised at all the fun spells Regina came up with for them to use and then stop, and something in the afternoon has chased away some of the darkness of the devastated Regina that Emma found in bed.

“Can I...” Regina considers for a moment. “I’d like to come too. Perhaps I can bring some wine.”

“Yeah, what this party needs is booze,” Emma groans. “Can you believe we’ve ended up in this situation? I mean, in my wildest dreams...”

“It’s not exactly what I hoped for, no,” Regina admits. “But then, I was hoping you’d drive out of here that first night and never return.”

“That honesty of yours is a little punchy sometimes,” Emma says as they fall into step beside one another on the sidewalk. “I know you’ll do what’s best for Henry, but I think tonight is going to take a lot of patience and biting tongues from all of us, you know?”

“You’re telling me to be on my best behavior?” Regina asks, a smirk flashing on her lips for just a moment. “How quaint.”

“Well, Neal is gonna be...” Emma trails off as they turn into the parking lot behind the diner, intent on taking that shortcut. Only right there in the parking lot, Neal is shoving his bags in the trunk of Tamara’s SUV, while she stands back against the wall, shaking her head. They’re both wearing coats, clearly ready to head out.

“Neal?” Emma calls out once they’re in striking distance of the car. “How long did you think this chat was gonna last?”

He looks up, every bit the deer in the headlights. Emma ignores Regina’s amused little chuckle beside her, focusing on her ex instead. Tamara steps forward, linking her arm through Neal’s and offering an apologetic half-smile.

Yet again, Neal Cassidy is ready to run and leave Emma with the shitstorm.


	5. Chapter 5

“Emma, listen,” Neal mumbles, but she’s already locked and loaded to shoot down any bullshit excuse he might come up with.

“No,” Emma shuts him down. “I don’t think I will.”

“Neal really doesn’t feel--” Tamara starts to explain, but Emma cuts her off with an angry look.

“Don’t make excuses for him. What Neal probably hasn’t told you is that he has form on this front, right? First sign of trouble he runs. And yet again I’m left holding the baby.”

“Henry’s a great kid,” Neal says, scuffing his sneaker across the tarmac. “But I can’t handle all this right now.”

“And I can?” Emma says. “I’m running around town doing emergency magic lessons with the Evil Freaking Queen, and I haven’t even had time to work out what the hell kids eat yet.”

Regina snorts at that, and Emma clenches her fists to avoid lashing out in another direction.

“It’s not about Henry,” Neal says, chin pointed down towards his chest, smothering his words so Emma has to strain to hear. It only makes her angrier, like when they’d have blazing rows in hijacked motel rooms and stolen cars: Emma shouting like a normal person, Neal mumbling and hiding from the harsh truths like a little boy. It wasn’t that cute when he was 24, and it’s a hell of a lot less so more than a decade later. “I can’t go through it again.”

“Go through what?” Emma is stunned when Regina is the one to ask, jumping into the conversation before Emma gets a chance to reply. It’s enough to make Neal’s head snap up in surprise, too.

“You’re Henry’s mom,” Neal states, because repeating the obvious is exactly what Emma’s long day needs.

“I am,” Regina confirms. “I was also your father’s apprentice, like my mother before me.”

“That was all after my time,” Neal answers, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Did my father tell you how he let me go? Let me fall into this world, all alone?”

“Boo fucking hoo,” Emma mutters, because the flames of anger are well-stoked now and he doesn’t have the monopoly on parents making a bad situation a whole lot worse.

“I know your father was a coward,” Regina replies, as though Emma hadn’t spoken. “Giving up his son to cling to magic? Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

“I would think you’d be happy to see us go,” Tamara interjects. “Surely Emma showing up has caused enough disruption to Henry’s life.”

“It did,” Regina concedes. “But like toothpaste out of the tube, there’s only so much I can do about her now. Your boyfriend too, for that matter. Henry knows about them both; he wants them in his life.”

“Wait,” Emma steps back up to the plate, gripping the hem of her jacket to minimize the impulse to lash out with her hands. “If this is some kind of ‘send Henry to me’ deal, you can forget it.”

“It’s not,” Neal admits. “Although maybe we should talk about that. There’s no magic out there, Em. He’d be safe.”

“That’s not true,” Tamara sighs, and it’s hard to say who’s most surprised at her statement, but they’re all equally stunned that she should be the one to make it. “I told you earlier, Emma, that I knew about magic. That I track it?”

“Yeah,” Emma confirms for everyone else’s benefit.

“Well, there are pockets of it all over this world,” Tamara explains. “I can’t guarantee, for example, that there isn’t any in New York.”

“This is supposed to be a world without magic,” Neal whines, and this time he looks like he might actually lose it. Emma feels the old tug of habit, of wanting to place a calming hand on his shoulder before he lashes out at the car, or the nearest wall.

“Who told you that?” Regina asks. “Your father?”

“No,” Neal answers. “They call her Reul Ghorm. She let me come here. Gave me a bean.”

“Great, something else you could have warned me about,” Emma grumbles. “Do we know this RuPaul chick?” She directs the question at Regina.

“She was in your apartment offering magic lessons to our son,” Regina says, voice tight with that barely suppressed anger she’s fueled by. “She has many names, as you’re discovering.”

Emma just about swallows the groan of realization. One day the answer to a question will be something simple, not another piece in a frustrating mess of a puzzle that seems to span a few worlds and at least a couple of centuries to boot.

“So you’re going,” Emma says firmly. “And you’re not taking Henry anywhere. We’re all clear on that?”

“I don’t want to leave him,” Neal says, suddenly pleading. He steps across and takes Emma by the upper arms. “But you didn’t see what I saw. The people being killed on a whim. The kids running in terror. I’m not doing it again. I’m just not.”

“You called him a monster,” Emma reminds him. “He’s just a little boy, Neal. You don’t even know him yet.”

“You’d better not say these things where he can hear you,” Regina adds. “It would break his heart, and that I will not allow.”

Neal lets go of Emma, sensing a fight to be picked with Regina. Old feelings be damned, Emma kind of wants Regina to get medieval on his ass, make him face up to something for a change. Actually, she’d like anyone to step up and deal with even one goddamned thing right now, because one more crisis and Emma is getting into bed with a bottle of Maker’s Mark and not getting back out anytime soon.

“It didn’t break his heart to find out you’re the Evil Queen?” Neal asks. “Or to find out what you did to Emma and her family?”

“Bruised it, perhaps,” Regina lies, although Neal doesn’t seem to catch the half-truth. “But you tell me, Baelfire, did you stop loving your father when he killed and maimed?”

“No,” Neal admits. “What about your mother?”

Emma whips her head back and forth between them, feeling a lot like she’s waiting for an explosion to go off. Tamara has stepped up to Neal’s side again, and Emma can’t help but like that about her; loyalty is in short supply everywhere else.

“I loved my mother,” Regina says simply. “Not that it was always easy. It seems we have that in common.”

“So you know why I want to go?” Neal confirms. “You get why I wouldn’t want to watch all that happen to my own kid?”

“Sperm donation does not a father make,” Regina points out, because of course she can’t resist the cheap shot. “But I admit, the idea of Henry becoming like... that... terrifies me. And makes me so sad I can’t bear to think about it, because then my heart will be the one to break. But that’s the price of being a parent. You could even say it’s the price of loving anyone at all.”

“Yeah,” Neal says, shooting a look at Tamara, who squeezes his hand and offers a reassuring smile. A moment later he turns towards Emma, but she looks away just in time. “I don’t know what to do,” he adds, and it isn’t actually clear if he’s talking to any of them at all.

“Break the pattern,” Regina offers a moment later, her chin tilted up in that defiant way she has, and she’s such a mix of subdued and angry and brilliant that Emma can’t look anywhere but directly at her. This is what a queen looks like, she realizes; this is how you make people bow. “If your father would run, if he would let go or look for an easier path? Do the opposite.”

“I’m not sure--” Neal starts to argue, but Emma sees her chance as clearly as if Regina had passed the running baton to her.

“Be a better man,” Emma suggests. “I think you already are. Henry deserves that, and so do you.”

“I don’t know,” Neal says, shaking his head again.

“Let’s stay a bit longer,” Tamara suggests quietly. “If it goes wrong, we can leave anytime. But don’t give up before you even get to know him.”

“Huh,” Neal says, looking at each woman in turn, assessing the instant and probably temporary alliance that they’ve formed. “What is this, some kind of coven?”

“No,” Regina corrects him. “Tamara might understand magic, but she doesn’t possess a drop of it.”

“How can you tell?” Tamara asks, looking faintly disappointed.

“It’s a ‘takes one to know one’ sort of situation,” Regina answers, even summoning up a cheeky little wink to go with it. Emma almost laughs out loud, because now there’s a magical equivalent of gaydar; of course there is.

“You think you can wait here while I get the dessert?” she asks, looking at Neal. “Then you can walk back with us.”

“I guess so,” Neal sighs, shrugging as he links his arm with Tamara’s. “But I’m not promising anything beyond tonight. Does Granny have banana cream?”

“She does,” Regina supplies, striding off in front, leaving Emma to scurry after her. “It’s one of Henry’s favorites.”

***

This is for Henry, Emma tells herself as she looks around the hastily-assembled dinner table, which is really a desk and a dresser shoved together just because they happen to be the same height. The stools and chairs around it aren’t too bad, although David is definitely struggling to look all kingly as he sits on the little stool from the corner of the bathroom.

Neal has turned his chair backwards, straddling it like they’re hanging out in a doughnut shop, and Tamara is next to him, sitting normally but sneaking glances at all the people in the room who are new to her. At the end of the table is Regina, who has managed to claim the apartment’s only actual dining chair, and make it look like a throne as she sits there, legs crossed and bobbing a high-heeled shoe in her only outward display of not being entirely comfortable.

For her part, Emma is splitting the mini-bench seat with Henry, bumping him with her hip every so often in a bid to make him smile. He seems far more interested in Neal, who has at least snapped out of it enough to explain the geography of Neverland to his son.

“It’s nothing much,” Mary Margaret says, as she brings the first two plates over, filled with steaming piles of the risotto she whips up every so often as comfort food. Regina tuts in impatience when nobody else gets up to help right away, and with a flick of her head, she brings the rest of the dishes floating over by magic, landing each one in front of a waiting dinner guest. Mary Margaret nods curtly, and mumbles what might just be a ‘thank you’.

“So,” David says, like a principal bringing the meeting to order once forks are clutched in every hand. “Let’s talk about Henry, shall we?”

“I am still here, you know,” Henry reminds them, before rolling his eyes in almost perfect sync with Regina. Emma almost chokes on her first mouthful of rice.

“Neal,” Emma says, steering the conversation. “I know it isn’t going to be easy, but can you give us some kind of recap of everything you know about the dagger? About the Dark One?”

Neal sighs, shoveling another pile of food into his mouth like it’ll buy him more than a few seconds.

“Okay,” he says a minute later. “So basically, it happened like this...”

***

Henry can’t resist showing off for his family, assembled for the first time without pointing weapons at each other, and Emma doesn’t have the heart to stop him.

As their plates clear, Henry gets up from the bench and solemnly announces that he’s on clean up duty. Regina leans over the corner of the table to squeeze his arm, but whether it’s encouragement or warning, Emma isn’t entirely sure.

There’s no initial pause this time, no holding their breath and waiting for something to happen. In just a second, Henry has plates whirring through the air, faster even than Regina had moved them, until they all stack at the side of the sink.

“That’s enough,” Neal says roughly. Henry stares at him, confused that his father isn’t more impressed by the display. “Magic isn’t a joke, Henry.”

“No one invited you here to parent my son,” Regina chimes in, a sneer tugging at her upper lip. Before Emma can defuse the situation, David has already contributed.

“And you think we’re going to take your advice on how to keep Henry from the dark side?”

“I find, as the only person here to have raised a child, that it helps to actually understand the thing you’re trying to protect him from. Running around proclaiming your every action as good doesn’t mean you actually understand the concept,” Regina accuses. “Which is why I don’t want Henry living with you.”

“Mom,” Henry is the one to warn her. “I only just found my family.”

“I’m your family, too,” Regina reminds him. “And I am the only one who always wanted to be your family, every single day.”

“I know,” he admits.

“We do need to talk living arrangements,” Emma steers the conversation to steadier ground. “Neal, if you’re sticking around...”

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’ll be at the B&B for a while yet.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were going to be buying a three-bed with a big yard just yet,” Emma mutters. “David, Mary Margaret,” Emma says, back in her normal voice, but her mother is already smiling softly.

“We’ve actually found a place,” Mary Margaret explains. “The house I mentioned a few weeks ago is still available. Of course, it’s big enough for all of us, but I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?”

“I think we’re all adults,” Emma says evenly. “And while I want us to spend plenty of time together--”

“You need your space,” David finishes for her. “We understand. You can stay here, if you’d like.”

“I would,” Emma replies, sighing with relief. “Now, kid, I’m not exactly cut out for the whole full-time Mom gig.”

“You’re doing okay,” Henry assures her, and he’s not completely lying when he says it. “But I should spend some of the time with Mom, right?”

“Right,” Emma agrees, not daring to look at Regina who sounds like she’s choking back a sob. “Neal, you want to just play it by ear?”

“I can cover some time when you’re working or whatever,” Neal confirms. “If that’s okay with you, Regina.”

“Fine,” Regina says, curt as ever.

“Well, that wasn’t so difficult--” Tamara starts to say, but the apartment door crashes open with a cloud of gray smoke, and there’s more than one squeal piercing the air before they collectively scramble for cover. Tamara recovers quickest, and as the nearest to Henry she pulls him down behind the table, shielding him with her own body.

With furniture as an impromptu shield, the remaining adults face the clearing smoke. David has grabbed his sword from where it was propped against the pillar, and Mary Margaret and Neal have armed themselves with the cutlery Henry didn’t get around to clearing. Regina is flexing her fingers like she just can’t wait to barbecue someone with magic, and with her Sheriff’s pistol still in her jacket, Emma improvises by cracking the empty wine bottle against the table edge, putting a lot more faith in jagged glass than her own magical abilities.

If it’s Gold or Cora back from the dead, well, Emma’s not even dealing with that right now 

Thankfully she barely has time to finish that scary-ass zombie thought before the glint of a metal hook becomes clear, and her shoulders slump in recognition. If she owed Hook an ass-kicking before, he’s only added to the list since.

“Nice entrance, Hook!” She mocks, calling out as he steps into the room. “Where’d you get the special effects?”

“Let’s just say a little fairy owed me a favor,” Hook says, looking around the room. “Now, I’m here for some confirmation.”

“In some worlds, it’s considered polite to knock,” Regina reminds him. “I hear you made it to New York, Captain.”

“That I did,” Hook confirms, reaching lazily for the hilt of his own sword when nobody lowers their weapons. “And I’m here to check the results of my handiwork. They tell me my Crocodile is dead?”

“He is,” Regina tells him. “My mother, too.”

“Cora’s dead?” Hook seems genuinely taken aback at the news. With his good hand he rubs uncomfortably at the stubble on his jaw. “My condolences, your Majesty. She was a fine woman, for all that we had our occasional differences.”

“Like her knocking you out and leaving you behind to chase the dagger alone?” Regina asks, smirking.

“Quite,” Hook says, with a wry smile of his own.

You don’t have anything to say about my father, Hook?” Neal challenges, moving closer with a simple knife in his hand, barely sharp enough to cut through butter.

“Your father?” Hook repeats, and he seems genuinely confused. “I’m here to claim my trophy, man. And that trophy lost his son a long time ago.”

“Don’t you recognize me, captain?” Neal spits, face reddened with anger. Emma looks past him to Regina, wondering if she knows what the hell is going on. “C’mon, you didn’t think I’d let that shadow keep me forever, did you?”

“Baelfire?” Hook gasps. “How did you--”

“Escape Pan?” Neal finishes. “Now, why would I tell you that? He’s still got a score to settle with you.”

“Well, I’m not going back to Neverland anytime soon,” Hook says, raising his sword as Neal moves closer.

“Hey!” Emma yells when they get a little too close. “Sorry to break up the reunion, but there’s a kid here, so maybe cool it on the weapons?”

“We can’t drop our guard,” Neal tells her. “This asshole will stop at nothing to wipe out my whole family. First my mom, now my dad...”

“Your father killed Milah!” Hook roars at him. “I told you this before, but you were a foolish child. Are you ready to listen now?”

“He didn’t!” Neal yells right back.

“He did,” Regina says quietly. Every head in the room turns towards her, but she looks only at Neal. “He threatened me, once. I said I’d tell the King about him, that I wanted to stop the lessons and stop taking hearts. He told me that he’d take mine instead, and crush it. Just like he’d done to his own wife.”

“You’re lying,” Neal says, waving his knife ineffectually in Regina’s direction.

“No, she isn’t,” Emma pipes up, because her detection abilities might be suspect sometimes, but a blind person could see the truth of Regina’s story written all over her face.

“I don’t care,” Neal growls, rounding on Hook again. “You didn’t take my mother from him; you took her from _me_.”

“We were always going to come back for you, Bae,” Hook says, and it sounds kind of desperate. “And didn’t I try to make it up to you? Didn’t I offer to look after you when you washed up on my ship?”

“Screw you,” Neal spits, turning his back on Hook, probably to address Tamara. That’s why he doesn’t see Hook lifting the sword, face contorted in rage. Neal doesn’t hear the whistle of the blade as it cuts through the air around him, but he does hear the ‘pop’ and then the clatter of a sword falling to the floor.

“What the hell?” David asks, and they all edge forward to see the snail where Hook was standing a moment before. “Who did that?”

Regina looks at Emma in accusation, while shoving her hands in her pockets. Emma shakes her head, struck dumb at the scene before them. Then they both turn towards their son, freshly broken free from Tamara’s protective hold, standing behind Neal, practically vibrating with energy.

“Do it,” Henry says. “Do it, Dad.”

“Henry,” Neal murmurs, never taking his eyes from the snail.

“He was going to kill you with your back turned,” Henry says, while the other adults look on, horrified. “One step, and we never have to worry about him again.”

“Neal,” Emma starts to say, but he’s already in motion.

Step.

Splat.

“Holy shit,” Tamara blurts, putting her hands over her face. “Did that really just...”

“Henry!” Mary Margaret calls out, dropping the fork she was holding. “Henry, what did you do?”

Regina rushes towards him, pulling him into a hug and muttering something under her breath. Henry stops the gentle shaking then, and like he’s snapping out of a trance, he starts hugging Regina back.

Neal lifts his foot in slow, horrified silence.

“No,” he whimpers. “I didn’t want to. I... I didn’t mean to...”

“Neal, baby,” Tamara is by his side in an instant. “Come on, let’s go back to the B&B.”

“Wait a minute,” David interrupts. “Are we really going to pretend this didn’t just happen? A crime was committed.”

Emma is suddenly, painfully aware of the badge still clipped to the waistband of her jeans. She can’t even conceive of how this would fit into one of her standard, copy and pasted incident reports.

“He did swing a sword at Neal’s head,” Emma offers weakly, her shoulder lifting and falling in something like a shrug. “There’s an argument to be made for self-defense.”

“Henry, did you do that on purpose?” David asks.

“I... guess?” The kid replies, pulling away from Regina a little. “I was just trying to protect my Dad and that’s what happened.”

“All Henry did was turn Hook into a snail,” Regina reminds them. “That’s not technically a crime. Certainly not under Storybrooke’s Town Charter.”

“Due respect,” Emma replies. “But that Charter was written for a fake town made up of your human Sims. Let’s not hang everything on that, okay?”

“I’m not sorry,” Henry says, and just as Emma looks back at him she sees that glimmer again, for just a fraction of a second. “He was going to kill my dad.”

“Okay,” Emma accepts. “But Henry, that’s two bodies in a week, just because you assumed someone wanted to hurt someone else. You see how that’s a problem?”

“My head hurts,” he replies, turning back towards Regina. “Can I go to bed?”

“Of course,” Regina says. “I have some tonic in my bag for you, I’ll bring it up.”

“No,” Henry corrects her. “I mean, can you take me home? I don’t want to be here with all this.”

And Regina, goddamn her, doesn’t even hesitate. She barely finishes lifting her lips in a smile before she and Henry are disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

“Emma!” David calls out to her. “Aren’t you going to do something about that?”

“Like what?” Emma snaps. “I can chase after them, but you heard Henry.”

“I’m sorry,” Neal says. “I should have gone like I was gonna. Me staying is just screwing everything up.”

“Don’t say that,” Emma pleads. “I need all the help I can get right now.”

“Well, you should have thought of that when you didn’t tell Neal he had a son for eleven years,” Tamara says. “I feel for you, Emma, but this isn’t his problem. It isn’t mine either.”

“So you’re bailing? Heading back to New York right now?” Emma demands. “What’s to say I don’t arrest you, Neal? God knows I’ve got witnesses.”

“How you gonna make it stand up in court?” Tamara asks. “Because if you hold some kind of witch trial here, I’ll make sure everyone knows Storybrooke is now officially on the map.”

“Is that a threat?” Mary Margaret steps up then, standing right by Emma’s side. David flanks her on the opposite side, and Emma is quietly thankful for it.

“I don’t want to make threats,” Tamara amends. “But I will protect the people I love, just like all of you are doing. Neal’s been through enough because of his father. Just because some shoddy parenting let Henry get all this power, doesn’t mean Neal should be punished all over again.”

“Hey!” Emma yelps, outraged.

“I’m going back to my own apartment,” Neal says, sounding surer now. He’s standing funny, like he can’t bear to put weight on the offending foot, and Emma doesn’t want to look at the mess of blood and slime right there on the bare wood floor. “So it’s not really running, Emma. You know how to find me.”

“Yeah,” Emma snorts. “Like you were gonna be back after you sold the watches. I don’t believe a word you say.”

“Well, not a lot I can do about that now,” Neal says. “I’ve explained why I did what I did. And I’m not sticking around to become like my dad. Crushing people turned into snails is way too much his thing.”

“So is being a coward,” Emma accuses, fighting back tears of exhaustion, or maybe just sheer frustration. “Just go,” she sighs.

“Come on,” Tamara encourages him, taking Neal’s arm and steering him towards the door, which is still wide open.

Left with only her parents, and the mess, Emma closes her eyes and takes a long, shuddering breath.

“I have to go,” Emma says a moment later, her voice as small and tired as she currently feels.

“It might help to stay with us, we can clear all this up together,” Mary Margaret suggests, squeezing Emma’s elbow. “I don’t think being alone is a good idea.”

“Unless you’re going to bring Henry back, of course,” David adds. “I’ll get the mop,” he says, sighing heavily.

Emma isn’t sticking around for any whistle while you work crap, so she flexes her fingers and in the space of about seventy seconds transforms the apartment back to show home levels of neatness.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret says as the last chair slides back to its proper position. “Emma. Sweetheart, you’re quite powerful, aren’t you?”

“Not as powerful as Henry, I guess,” Emma says. “I wasn’t kidding about needing some space, though,” she continues, grabbing her jacket from the rack beside the door. “I’ll be back later.”

“Emma,” her father says, but she’s already in motion. A quick jog has her downstairs and her trusty Bug is ready and waiting. Gunning the engine, Emma rolls away from the curb with no destination in mind; tonight she’s going to try just getting lost.

***

She wants to cry as she takes the turning for Mifflin twenty minutes later. No matter how deliberately she steered away from this part of town, it seems all roads lead to where Emma least needs to be. Maybe it’s maternal instinct, but thinking of Henry causes an odd surge of nausea each time; it’s enough to distract Emma from the fact that who she’s actually thinking about is Regina.

Has their temporary truce been shattered by Henry defecting back to the woman who cared for him all this time? It’s possible Regina simply wanted to shield the kid from the horror of what he’d just done, Hook’s remains swept away now by a blast of soapy water controlled by Emma’s magic. Damn, maybe she should have tried turning him back and giving him a proper burial, but with all the death in town lately, Emma’s starting to feel like a part-time undertaker.

Decision made by her subconscious (or perhaps some suspect town planning in a municipality designed by a curse and a damaged woman’s mind) Emma parks outside Regina’s house and slaps the dashboard a few times before exiting the car.

She doesn’t want to take Henry back tonight. Here, where he’s Regina’s problem, is probably the safest place right now. Emma feels a fresh surge of guilt at wanting to hand him off so soon, but the scale of what she hasn’t even started to wrap her head around is just too huge to bear, never mind trying to figure all that out while also taking a crash-course in parenting for rank amateurs.

So there’s really no reason for Emma to knock on the pristine front door, knuckles landing just beneath the brass ‘108’ in short, sharp raps; seems she’s doing it anyway.

Minutes elapse with no sound from inside, and just as Emma turns to leave, Regina appears in a lackluster puff of smoke on the porch beside her, stumbling on the brick in her heels.

“He’s already in bed,” Regina informs Emma, arms crossed over her chest and a firmness in her tone that Emma doesn’t have the energy to argue with.

“I don’t like you just disappearing the minute he asks. But it’s okay for him to stay here,” Emma says. “Only I figure that now we need to talk about what the hell just happened. Henry just killed someone else, for Christ’s sake.”

“No,” Regina corrects. “He didn’t. He neutralized a threat. Put both of us to shame with his reaction time, too. Though I confess I have no investment in saving your ex.”

“You heard him, Regina,” Emma reminds her. “‘Do it, Dad.’ Come on, that’s some messed up Omen shit right there.”

“And Neal is a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. Henry only said out loud what Neal was clearly already thinking,” Regina defends, and there’s something of the mama lioness in it that makes Emma’s heart squeeze a little. This is the kind of mother she wanted her baby to go to eleven years ago.

“We know that for sure?” Emma asks. “Because when Neal started fumbling after, about how he didn’t mean it... are we a hundred percent sure that Henry didn’t make him do it?”

“Henry’s the one who can be controlled by a dagger,” Regina argues. “Neal retains his free will. And I didn’t see any magic swirling around his leg as he stomped on that snail, did you?”

“It wasn’t just a snail!” Emma groans. “That was a man we both knew! Okay, so maybe he wasn’t gonna make Man of the Year lists any time soon, but if we start killing everyone who creeps us out...”

“...you’ll be no better than me?” Regina finishes the thought, bristling as she does.

“Something like that,” Emma mumbles. “God, the one thing I wanted when I gave Henry up was for him to end up better than me. Now he’s got a body count, and he hasn’t even started shaving.”

“I have my concerns too,” Regina concedes. “For example, if he keeps acting on his emotions like this, the secret about the Dark One will be almost impossible to keep. People will kill for that power, Emma. They have done, many times before. Maybe we have to reconsider keeping him here.”

“We'll have to get more information from Tamara first. Doing magic here is one thing, but doing it accidentally out in the world would be a shitstorm," Emma points out. “You know, when I walked into the room and saw those dead bodies the other day,” Emma says. “I thought ‘the worst is over!’ How dumb was that?”

“I don’t know how we’re still standing,” Regina admits. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired. What about you? I hope your parents are making sure you eat and sleep properly.”

“Kinda,” Emma answers. “It’s like... I’m not thinking about any of this properly. I only just got my head around the curse, and my family, and... if I think about even one more crazy thing, I think I’m gonna lose it.”

Her voice cracks on those last words, and to her complete mortification, Emma feels the tears coming. They scald her cheeks as they start to fall, a mini-waterfall from each eye, her mouth twisted as sobs try to force their way out of her throat. Oh, this is ugly and embarrassing and why did it have to finally have to happen in front of Regina, of all people?

“Emma?” Regina sounds cautious, but when Emma tries to say something reassuring, only a messy, hiccuping sob comes out.

Her son kills people and her mom is Snow White and Emma can Mary Poppins the shit out of a room quicker than she can change a tampon, and why the hell did she ever answer the door back in goddamned Boston a year ago?

Her chest feels like it’s caving in, and still the tears keep falling. Emma turns to stagger back to her car, but there are hands on her shoulders, steadying her and keeping her in place.

“Emma,” Regina says again, and Emma folds into that strong grip, clutching at Regina’s dress and bawling her heart out like a little girl. She’s too tired to fight it any longer, and God knows she’s seen Regina in a few embarrassing states so far. Crying can’t be any worse than admitting you cursed a whole town of fairytale characters, really.

“Come inside,” Regina says, and now she’s shaking and her voice sounds wobbly.

“I... can’t,” Emma says through the sobs. “I... just had... to... sorry,” she gasps.

“Come on,” Regina sighs, and this time she leads Emma right past the front door and up the stairs without ever breaking stride. “I have guest rooms. You don’t have to stay, but you can take some time to get yourself together.”

“You’re upset too,” Emma accuses, the sobs having mostly subsided now, leaving her cheeks to sting with the tracks of salty tears. “We need to get a grip before we see Henry again, huh?”

“Exactly,” Regina says, and it’s only when she guides Emma into the first unoccupied bedroom that Emma realizes Regina is basically holding her up. It feels so comforting, so weirdly secure to have Regina’s arm wrapped around her waist that Emma doesn’t actually want her to let go. There’s someone just as strong as Emma, if not stronger, and she’s going to make sure Henry’s okay too.

“Regina,” Emma is trying to find a way to thank her, or maybe to ask for some reassurance, but the carpet is ridiculously thick and Emma’s boots find a way to trip her, until she’s stumbling into the side of the bed and pulling Regina down with her. It’s like something out of a Meg Ryan movie for a moment, the soft ‘oh’ of surprise and the ridiculous way their eyes meet.

The only way, really and truly the only thing left to fuck this situation up beyond the complete mess that already exists, would be for sex to somehow enter the equation.

Emma isn’t blind, she’s seen the way Regina looks at everyone, male or female, with that predatory glint in her eyes. In their more heated arguments, there’s been a crackle of tension that Emma has denied over and over again, but that was then and this is now. Everything is changing, and the stakes have never been higher, so it’s definitely the worst time to be staring at Regina’s full, pouty lips, enhanced by the sexy secret that her scar no doubt holds, and thinking about how it might feel to kiss her. Absolutely, without doubt, the worst time to be wondering how those lips would feel kissing Emma’s own.

So, naturally, Emma takes a deep breath and kisses Regina anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to fortunas-wheel for her Colour of Magic meta - it confirmed a lot of what I subconsciously picked up about their magic, and it's going to be so helpful as we go along.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with the Dark One goes on, as much as it can. And if you were thinking 'hmm, Regina's been particularly well-behaved, hasn't she?" well...

Regina shifts where she landed on top of Emma, a halfway gesture that would allow the kissing to stop if either of them wanted it to. In the limited contact they’ve had - clutching at each other in burning buildings, physical fights, and the occasional helping hand - Emma’s been shocked every time at how warm Regina is to the touch, how human.

Stupid, really.

It’s somewhere between the moment Regina’s hand starts to slide down over Emma’s shirt, while Emma’s own hand is making a bold grab for Regina’s frankly irresistible ass, that they hear the telltale creak of a floorboard from outside the not-quite-closed bedroom door.

Springing apart like busted teens under the bleachers, Emma scrubs her tear-streaked face against the nearest pillowcase, ignoring Regina’s low grumble of protest, right before Henry comes creeping around the door.

“What were you doing?” He demands, looking not at all intimidating in his pajamas.

“I thought you were sleeping, Henry,” Regina tries to head him off, standing up and smoothing out her dress. “Emma is going to stay here tonight. She’s having one of your magic headaches.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Henry snaps. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Hey, kid,” Emma warns. “It’s been a bit of a crazy night, okay? Don’t talk to your mom that way.”

“You don’t have a headache,” Henry accuses. “You were just crying. After talking about how I’m like the kid from the Omen.”

“You heard that?” Regina asks, frowning at him. Her hands are on her hips, but Emma can see the tension in Regina’s forearms from trying to act completely normal. “How did you hear, Henry?”

“Turns out all I have to do is think ‘I want to know what they’re saying’,” Henry replies, shrugging in that way he has, the way Emma has always found cute before. It’s less cute tonight, as he stares them down from the doorway, one hand clutching the handle. “I didn’t know how to shut it off, though. So when I heard weird breathing noises I came to see what you were doing.”

Regina waves her hand in his direction, little more than a tired flicker from a tired limb, but Henry straightens for a moment before relaxing.

“I got pretty upset,” Emma says, taking a bullet for Regina as much as herself. “I, uh, was pretty good friends with Hook for a while in the Enchanted Forest.”

“I’m not sorry,” Henry says. “I know you want me to be. I know you think this is a pattern. But he tried to kill my dad. And you all saw it, too.”

“You could have let one of the grown-ups take care of it,” Regina points out, her voice gentle. “Sometimes seeing things coming makes us act too quickly. And some things can’t be undone, Henry. You must learn that.”

“Can I see Dad tomorrow?” Henry asks, and Emma feels that now-familiar gut punch of the title given so easily, so unearned; she can’t meet Regina’s eyes for thinking about the times Henry has tried to force the ‘Mom’ title on Emma herself.

“He’s going back to New York,” Emma explains, because the last thing this situation needs is a lie or even a half-truth. “He has some stuff in his own life to sort out right now, and we can’t expect him to just move here at a moment’s notice or anything.”

“Is he mad at me?” Henry asks, suddenly looking and sounding much younger than eleven.

“No,” Regina says, her tone not allowing for any argument on the topic. “But I know how he’s feeling right now, Henry.” She moves in close, crouching in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s really complicated, when your Mom or Dad dies. And we need to let him deal with that first, okay?”

“Are you going to deal with it instead of helping me?” Henry asks, eyes narrowing as he watches his mother.

“Of course not,” Regina promises. “But I also have the benefit of already grieving for my mother, many years ago. It’s... easier for me.”

No, Emma thinks. It really isn’t.

But her cheeks are still warm and no doubt a little flushed, and the ache between her thighs is calmer but persistent, so she really needs to stop listening to Regina be _good_ at this stuff, in case Emma starts thinking anything else that can lead to easily-overheard kissing.

“You’re our first priority, kid,” Emma assures him. “Now, you really should go back to bed.”

“I’ll tuck you in,” Regina offers, hesitation in her voice. She’s waiting to be rejected, Emma realizes a moment too late.

“Okay,” Henry agrees easily, and Emma feels relief sweep over her like a splash of cool water. “If I do the hearing spell one more time, will you teach me how to stop it?”

“Quickly, then,” Regina says, standing up straight and guiding him out of the door. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Swan. If you need anything to eat or drink--”

“I’m fine,” Emma cuts her off. “I’m just going straight to sleep, I think.”

“See you in the morning,” Regina says, with more force than is necessary. Emma supposes it’s a warning about not bailing now when Henry is clearly in a sensitive mood, and she doesn’t have the energy to fight it anyway.

She closes her eyes, thinks about her softest pajamas, shoved carelessly under a couch cushion back at the apartment, and moments later they’re grazing against her skin. Then it’s just a case of washing up and using the bathroom, which is a real en suite, leaving Emma feeling almost refreshed.

It would be smarter to leave really, to put some serious ground between Emma and those lips of Regina’s, but Emma doesn’t feel much inclined to go anywhere else. Henry doesn’t deserve another rejection right now, she tells herself. With one parent bailing after a couple of days, it’s important that she and Regina stay close.

God, Emma almost believes herself when she says it.

She crawls under the sheets, flipping the mascara-smeared pillow onto the floor with a smirk and pulling another spotless one close. There’s the soft sound of a door closing as Emma drifts off, but she’s too tired to fight her way back.

***

“I thought you’d be gone,” Regina says from the kitchen door, making Emma jump half a foot in the air. The egg mixture she was gently whisking almost ends up all over the counter, but she stops the bowl skidding just in time.

“Sneaky, much?” Emma accuses. “And I don’t always run, you know.”

“No, that lifelong habit of yours only stopped when you showed up in Storybrooke,” Regina sighs. “Lucky me.”

“Henry up yet?” Emma asks. “I’m making French toast.”

“He’s been up for a while,” Regina informs her, before shooting another purple bubble of magic that expands over the kitchen, making the air shimmer for a moment before disappearing.

“Soundproofing?” Emma confirms. “Hey, I don’t know what you have planned, Regina, but I’m really not that kind of girl.”

“Such wit,” Regina groans. “I thought it would be best to have any discussions about Henry in private from now on. And we didn’t exactly finish what we were saying last night.”

Emma can practically hear the muscles in Regina’s face straining from the effort to appear completely cool. She decides to give her nemesis a break, just this once.

“I’m sorry,” Emma says. “Emotions were running a little high, and you were really decent about it. You could have thrown me out, or told Henry I tried something to turn him against me. But instead you let me stay, and that’s why I’m cooking breakfast.”

“Assuming you can, in fact, cook French toast,” Regina adds, looking relieved.

“Wouldn’t have started if I couldn’t,” Emma fires back, moving to the stove and turning the heat up beneath the pan. “And I guess what I’m trying to say,” she continues, not daring to look back at Regina. “Is that this is me putting my trust in you, Regina. You already did by letting me stay here last night, after everything, and it’s about time I did the same.”

“You people,” Regina sighs. “You have to spell it all out like we’re writing messages in greeting cards. I understood the gesture.”

“And accepted it with about as much grace as usual,” Emma grumbles. “So, about Henry?”

“Yes, we need a more long-term solution,” Regina concedes, sitting at the breakfast bar in her silk robe and pajamas. “I know I’ll regret asking, but did you have any suggestions?”

“First of all,” Emma replies, turning around again. “This occurred to me while I was sleeping, and I know it’s probably wrong, but here goes. I know you don’t want to use the dagger, and I totally agree. But isn’t there a way we could use it _once_ and, say, command Henry not to kill anyone ever again?”

“No,” Regina shoots the idea down without a scrap of mercy. She reacts, a moment later, to the scowl Emma can’t keep from her face, and reluctantly explains. “Like making wishes, it’s terribly complex. We issue the command and say five years from now Henry is attacked. His only way to escape is killing his attacker in self-defense... but we’ve removed that option from him.”

“Damn,” Emma sighs, reaching for the first slice of bread to dunk and fry. “This magic crap is kind of impossible.”

“Well, I’m sure if you asked your parents they’d tell you it’s just as simple as being perfectly good all the time and avoiding evil by sheer force of will,” Regina complains, coming across the kitchen to inspect Emma’s handiwork.

“Too many cooks, your Majesty,” Emma warns. “Besides, when’s the last time someone cooked breakfast for you? You should be jumping at the chance.”

“Henry made me pancakes on my birthday two years ago,” Regina says. “Although they were bright green and had peanut butter filling.”

“See? I can’t be that bad,” Emma points out. “You can get the plates, if your control freakery won’t let you stay out of it.”

“How domestic,” Regina drawls, but she looks away quickly when they both recognize the truth in the statement. Thankfully, any blushing is interrupted by the arrival of a sleepy Henry.

“I couldn’t hear you from the hall,” he says, looking at them both in accusation. “Usually I can hear you argue from miles away.”

“We’re not arguing,” Emma tells him. “We’re making breakfast. And then we’re going to sit down and work out what happens next.”

“Oh great,” Henry sighs. “More lectures.”

“You know what, kid?” Emma says, abandoning her cooking and rounding the breakfast bar to challenge him. “I get that you’re having a weird time, but so is everyone else. Life’s tough, okay? It sucks, a lot of the time. It sucks even worse when you don’t have a whole bunch of people who care about you, and a big fancy house full of toys and home-cooked food. And you might think you’re special because you found me, but I’m the one who broke a curse, not you.”

“Emma--” Regina tries to interrupt, but Emma’s in full flow now.

“And your mom over there is the Evil Queen, like it or not. She knows more about your magic powers than you or I will ever forget, okay? So here’s the new deal: you listen. You do what you’re told. And you stop killing people. Do that, and things will just go back to normal. Ice-cream and soccer and watching Iron Man 3 when we get the Bluray.”

“I’m getting Iron Man 3?” Henry perks up at that, and it breaks the tension perfectly. He’s their son again, with his uneven smile and his floppy bangs and that sprinkling of freckles that Emma shares, her own usually obscured with makeup.

“Maybe,” Regina says, stepping in to salvage the French toast.

“I think the first step,” Emma says, feeling confident for once that someone will have her back,“is getting back into a routine. That means school. That means homework.”

“Emma’s right,” Regina agrees, flipping the bread as she nods. “So after breakfast you can go upstairs and get your school things.”

“Seriously?” Henry asks, finally wide awake. “That’s how you’re going to keep me from the dark side?”

“No,” Regina says, putting the first two slices on a plate and moving away from the stove again. Emma takes her place, dunking the next slice of bread like it’s her job. “We’re going to keep you from it with love, Henry. Just a couple of days ago I was asked what it would be like to have a mother who truly loved me, to have a family that it was safe and healthy for you to be a part of.”

Henry watches his mother like they’ve never met before, all darting eyes and a posture that screams ‘don’t come any closer’.

“You, my darling boy, already have two mothers who love you. And your grandparents. And your father, I’m sure. So there’s no reason we ever have to lose you, not once we teach you all the smart ways to control your magic.”

“You think it’s that easy?” Henry demands.

“Nothing is,” Regina says. “But you are going to have all the help I didn’t have, with none of the reasons to want to hurt anyone.”

“And you don’t want me to be on your side?” Henry presses. “We could be, like, the axis of evil.”

“No,” Regina insists. “No, those days are behind me now, Henry. My mother coming back was the perfect, awful reminder that I needed. I can’t hate the way I used to, not when I have you to care about.”

Emma’s surprised that Regina agrees so readily, but relieved for Henry’s sake. Maybe putting a little faith in Regina isn’t actually the worst idea in the history of the world.

“Okay, that’s enough serious business for one morning,” Emma says. “Let’s start eating, and then Henry’s going to go to school and not do any magic all day.”

“What?” Henry gasps.

“You can’t,” Emma reminds him. “Or people might work out you’re the new... that you got those powers the way you did. And that’s really bad, remember?”

“Right,” Henry grumbles. “So, it’s kind of like another secret mission?”

“Another?” Regina asks, clearly confused.

“I don’t think we need a code name,” Emma groans. “Operation Cobra was quite enough for one lifetime.”

“I think we should call it Operation... Sunshine!” Henry proclaims, ignoring Emma’s objection completely. “You know because dark magic... but we’re trying to do the opposite.”

“Very clever,” Regina agrees, which is enough to make Emma briefly reconsider their alliance. “Now let’s sit down and eat.”

***

With Henry dropped off at school, Emma takes her time getting to the station. It’s not exactly grown-up to avoid the apartment right now, but a few texts exchanged with Mary Margaret have at least minimized the nagging. Emma fields a few boring calls about noise complaints and barely significant boundary disputes, and she finds it hard to believe these people once lived under the daily threat of ogres, dragons, and bloodthirsty families settling their disputes with armies of unwilling peasants. It seems Storybrooke has made everyone kind of soft and very, very petty.

Maybe that’s why she’s so damn relieved at eleven, when Regina comes striding in, her all-business heels clicking out a warning as she makes her way across the office to Emma’s desk.

“Let me guess,” Emma heaves out in a sigh. “We need to talk about Henry?”

“Why?” Regina asks, stopping short. “Did you hear something? I told the school that I am still legally his--”

“Woah!” Emma interrupts, holding her hands up in apology. “There’s no news, and I’m taking that as good news. I didn’t mean to, you know... so why are you here?”

“I thought you might want some lunch,” Regina explains, holding up a white paper bag. “And since you made breakfast, I thought I would spare you a trip to Granny’s Greasefest.”

“Hey, you designed the town, _Madam Mayor_ ,” Emma teases. “Couldn’t conjure up a branch of Whole Paycheck, huh?”

“It’s pasta salad,” Regina says, dumping the bag on Emma’s desk. “Eat it, don’t eat it, it’s entirely up to you.”

“Wow,” Emma says, peeking inside the bag as Regina turns to leave. “There’s more than enough in here.”

The wheels might turn slowly, but at least when Emma gets the idea her zero-to-sixty is faster than a Porsche.

“You want to have lunch with me?” She sputters.

“I said no such thing,” Regina points out, moving towards the exit.

“Hey,” Emma says, scrambling out of her seat and grabbing the lunch bag. “I’m bored out of my mind, too. And worried about Henry. So why don’t we take your pasta whatever and go take our minds off all of this?”

“I don’t need your pity,” Regina grumbles, but she doesn’t leave.

“No pity, Scouts’ honor,” Emma promises. “But I’m about a half hour from burning down the Post Office just so I can arrest myself for arson. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“We could go for a walk in the woods,” Regina says. “That way if you get too infuriating there’ll be plenty of places to dump your body.”

“From anyone else that would sound like a joke,” Emma complains, hooking her jacket from the stand with her free hand and following Regina out to the parking lot. “Are you driving?”

“Of course,” Regina sighs, as if she’d even consider handing over that much control to Emma.

“Good,” Emma says, folding herself into the passenger seat of Regina’s tiny car. “You can use the time to think up some cool grown-up magic to teach me.”

***

And okay, so maybe Emma does text Ruby where she’s going and who with, because just in case, right? With anyone else Emma might take this as a next move after the kissing mistake, but Regina looks exactly as interested in Emma as she always does, which is to say not at all. Or at least not in any way that doesn’t involve killing her. 

Regina navigates the streets with barely a second glance, all those years of practice making her route instinctual more than thought-out, and after shoving her phone back in her pocket, Emma relaxes and enjoys the ride. It’s not lost on her that they pass the school, but it’s not quite lunchbreak yet, so the kids remain safely inside; inside a building that’s neither smoldering nor crumbling, leading to a shared, quiet sigh of relief as the car picks up the pace again. 

Instead of taking the fork for the Toll Bridge as Emma would have suspected, Regina continues along the road that leads right out of town.

They stop about five feet past the town sign, the gaudy orange line still in evidence in the rear-view mirror, streaked across the black tarmac that’s freshly-slicked from the rain that just started falling.

“If it comes to it,” Regina begins, her voice choked. “If we really can’t make this work, here. You should take Henry and get as far away as possible. Maybe Tamara can advise on somewhere that’s close to magic-free.”

“One,” Emma responds. “I don’t think you mean that. I think you want to, but if I tried to take Henry you’d come after me and pull him right out of the car.”

“Emma--”

“And two,” Emma continues. “Why me? I have a family here. A family I lost for almost my whole life so far. I have friends, I have a job... not exactly a regular feature for me. Who says I want to go?”

“You will, eventually,” Regina sighs. “Trust me, the bloom comes off every rose. And you can always come back to visit.”

“Why not you?” Emma pushes. “I know this town was your science experiment, but it’s not that anymore. Forgive me for being blunt, but I don’t think many people would miss you. I’d want to come spend regular time with Henry, of course, but...”

“I can’t trust myself,” Regina admits. “What he said this morning...”

“About the axis of evil?” Emma confirms, seizing on the niggling doubt she’s been trying to ignore. “Yeah, I can see where that’s tempting.”

“What the Dark One did to me when he was Rumplestiltskin,” Regina says, staring out of the driver’s side window. “Sometimes this feels like a way to undo it all. And sometimes it feels like it’s just my destiny again. Another cycle to complete.”

“You didn’t complete the one your mom started,” Emma risks saying it, looking straight ahead. “I know you weren’t always Mom of the Year, but I know you didn’t hurt Henry.”

“And where did that get me?” Regina whispers. “Maybe the lesson there is that we can’t fight our destiny. Surely you understand some of that by now?”

“Getting put in jail by Pinocchio? Or knocked up by the son of Rumplestiltskin? Yeah, I can see where a girl pushed out of a closet on her first day alive might agree with you on the destiny thing, but I still want to fight it,” Emma confesses. “For Henry’s sake, anyway. It’s probably too late for us, all our damage is done. But I’m not accepting that one piece of metal is going to ruin his whole life.”

“Where is it?” Regina asks, turning towards Emma with a sharp jerk of her body, as though hoping to scare the answer out of her. “Would you tell me?”

“I can,” Emma replies. “But you just said you’re not done with the evil temptation yet... do you want to know? That’s gonna keep you up nights, right?”

“I won’t use it on him,” Regina murmurs, staring Emma down to the point where it gets uncomfortable. Emma breaks first fumbling in the bag for the tupperware and smiling when her fingers brush two pieces of cutlery.

“You _were_ inviting yourself for lunch!” Emma crows, pulling everything out onto her lap. “I mean, I don’t mind, but you didn’t have to deny it.”

“Shut up and give me a fork,” Regina grumbles, holding out her hand, pressing the fingers to her palm rapidly as a gesture of impatience. “How long do you think this truce of ours can last, anyway?” She asks, before placing a graceful forkful of pasta in her mouth and chewing slowly.

“I assume we’ll disagree along the way,” Emma concedes. “Especially if my parents get involved. Guess we’re just gonna have to take a deep breath and think about what’s best for Henry.”

“Well, I’m known for my restraint,” Regina answers with a wry chuckle. “Eat up, Sheriff. You’ve got some magic to do when we cross back over that line.”

“Sure we can’t do any out here?” Emma asks. “I mean, Gold couldn’t, but he was also wearing that thing to stop him losing his memories.”

“Be my guest,” Regina says, spearing more pasta and looking very satisfied at her own kitchen skills. “Conjure up something interesting.”

Emma closes her eyes and if sheer force of wanting to prove Regina wrong were a kind of magic, she could blow them off the map. Unfortunately nothing happens, not even the mildest spark.

Regina tuts, releases the handbrake and lets them roll slowly back over the line.

“Try again,” she instructs.

Trying desperately not to pout, Emma extends her hand and wishes desperately for a cool Diet Coke to wash down her lunch with. A moment later, one pops into existence on the dash.

“You really mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger,” Regina sighs. “But proof enough?”

“Yes,” Emma admits. “After everything, I still kind of like to see stuff for myself.”

She shovels the rest of the pasta into her mouth and grabs the can of soda before opening the car door.

“Magic lesson, come on,” she demands, hitting the roof of Regina’s beloved Mercedes. “Any time you’re mean to me, I’ll push you over the line to stop your magic.”

“Well, with tactical sense like that, I can see why you need training,” Regina snipes. “Come along, let’s go teach you some harmless ways to undo any magic Henry might perform around you.”

***

Time passes so quickly that Emma barely realizes, leaving them jogging back to the car just in time to leave for the school run. Regina is a little flustered at having been so distracted, and she throws the car into gear with an ease that wouldn’t be out of place on the Indy 500 circuit.

When they arrive at the gates Henry looks genuinely surprised that they’re both there, and Emma feels the claustrophobia kick in. She ushers Henry back to the car, giving him a hug that’s only slightly awkward before saying ‘have fun with your Mom’ genuinely enough to send him running around to the passenger side without any questions.

Regina isn’t so easily satisfied.

“You’re not concerned--”

“Nope,” Emma cuts her off, lying only a tiny little bit. “I meant what I said, this morning, about putting my faith in you. This is how I show that.”

“You just want the night off,” Regina mocks, looking pleased all the same. “I think swapping every day might be disruptive, though.”

“Let’s say three days each for now, and we can alternate Sundays? Or maybe Neal can take that day if he comes back to town,” Emma suggests, realizing they could have talked about this hours ago but all the spells and counter-spells had actually been fun.

“That seems reasonable,” Regina says, barely gritting her teeth at all. She must really have had the wind knocked out of her sails not to be fighting for an extra day, not to point out one more time how few rights Emma would have in any other part of the country but here where fairytales trump the legal system.

“I mean, if you need anything in the meantime,” Emma adds. “And we’ll still do magic lessons together most days, at least until everyone is confident, right?”

“Acceptable,” Regina says, turning back towards the car. “Now Henry, what do you say to pizza night?”

“Already?” Henry squeals. “It’s not even Friday!”

Emma almost invites herself at the thought of what Regina can no doubt do to some dough, tomato sauce and cheese, but bites her tongue just in time. Some much-needed alone time is in her grasp, and she’s sure as hell going to take it.

***

A week is a long time in politics, Emma thinks maybe she heard that in a movie at some point.

Turns out a week is actually over in the blink of an eye, and no sooner do they have a peaceful system of shuttling Henry back and forth like divorced parents everywhere, than the calm is disrupted again.

Regina is a lot better at remembering protective enchantments to secure some privacy from Henry the magical snoop, but back at the apartment Emma rarely bothers. They’re all on top of each other and hear just about everything all the time anyway, so Henry doesn’t need to be quite so sneaky.

Her parents have packed all of Mary Margaret’s belongings into boxes, ready to move in just a few days. As an act of parental charity, they’ve left all the kitchen things and practical pieces in place, already knowing that Emma would never really get around to replacing them all.

The plan is simple enough, really: it’s Regina’s day with Henry and so she collects him from his after-school soccer practice. Emma sent him off with special warning not to attempt any quiet acts of magic, because the other kids already know his skill level and there’s a reason Henry plays out on the right wing, where he doesn’t really need to get too involved.

It happens to be the evening when Emma’s curiosity gets the better of her, questioning her parents more closely over the events that led to Cora’s death, and if only Henry hadn’t forgotten his damn science homework, he wouldn’t have walked in with Regina just in time to overhear Mary Margaret’s tearful confession.

Destiny, Regina had said only a week ago, is something almost impossible to escape.

There’s a moment of chaos where everyone’s voice rises in a shouting match that makes no sense, not a single sentence is completed as the anger swirls around them like something tangible, almost like the soft smoke of magic.

Emma wonders, for a moment, if she’s about to see her mother murdered in front of her eyes (which, it turns out, is what happened to Regina after all). She wonders if Henry will suffer that same fate as Regina turns, eyes blazing and flecked with purple, towards Emma. If betrayal could be drawn in one terrifying portrait, it would look exactly like Regina’s face in that moment.

“Regina--” Emma finally manages to make her voice heard, but she gets only a shake of Regina’s head in return.

Pulling Henry close to her, Regina is shaking as the magic consumes them, walking away from the fight when she seemed least likely to. Only when the smoke has cleared, Henry’s homework still uncollected beside it, does anyone left in the room dare to exhale.

“You’ve really done it now,” Emma groans, and she hates being the one to say it, because in the quiet of the past few days she’s been learning to appreciate her parents and the depth of how they care for her, and all the tiny ways they’re trying to make up for the life she had without them.

But Emma sees it now, the fork in the road is as clear as the real one that would lead to the Toll Bridge. There’s no reality, at least not anytime soon, that includes peaceful cooperation between the branches of a family so thoroughly fractured.

“Don’t go after her,” David pleads. “Emma, stay and let us explain it to you properly.”

“Is there an explanation?” Emma asks, shoving her hands in her pockets and looking up at the ceiling, anything to avoid their gaze. “Because what I just heard goes against everything you’ve told me since the curse broke. It’s the opposite of everything the book said, of all the reasons you gave me for punishing Regina--and Gold, and Cora, while we’re at it.”

“Circumstances were very different,” Mary Margaret says through her tears. “Cora was going to kill us all, just to please Regina.”

“But Regina didn’t ask her to!” Emma snaps. “If we’d let Regina stay in Henry’s life, if we had trusted her one more time, Cora wouldn’t have had anything to offer her.”

“You think you understand because you share a son, but we know her much better,” David insists.

“No,” Emma corrects him. “And I don’t think you ever knew her at all. You certainly don’t know me if you think I’m gonna buy your excuses on this one. I’m keeping dark forces away from my kid with nothing more than a whip and a chair, only to find out the so-called good guys just turn it off whenever they feel like it!”

“Emma--”

“I think you guys should hurry up and move in to your new house,” Emma says, her voice as flat as she feels. “I’m going to have an early night. I’ll be out all day tomorrow.”

“Emma, please,” David tries again, but Emma shakes her head.

“I’m sure we’ll make it up at some point,” she says, throwing them one little bone. “But right now I can’t deal with this. I won’t deal with it.”

“Emma, we just got you back,” Mary Margaret seems inconsolable, even with David’s strong arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“That’s not my fault, either,” Emma warns her. “Please, just let me have some space tonight.”

She doesn’t wait for another protest, marching straight across the room to climb the stairs. She checks her phone in something like desperation, even if all Regina wants to do is yell and throw fireballs, Emma would feel better for knowing she and Henry are safe for the moment.

 _I’m sorry_ she texts once she’s settled on her bed. It’s inadequate, and not even her apology to make, but Emma feels a burning need to press the screen and make it happen all the same. The lack of response is expected, but it doesn’t stop a dull ache forming in the hollows of Emma’s chest.

Tomorrow, she’ll try again. Tomorrow she’ll get down on her knees and pray if she has to, that this won’t be the step pushing Regina towards darkness once more, dragging Henry right along with her. Emma thinks about the dagger locked away downstairs, wonders if it would be any challenge at all for Regina to free it with a wave of her hand once she thinks of it.

Closing her eyes, Emma sends every protective feeling she can towards the small metal safe in the kitchen. It’s probably not enough, but it’s better than nothing.

She settles into the pillows, flicking through the contacts in her phone like there’s anyone she can actually talk to about this. The muted noises of her parents talking filters up from downstairs, and without thinking, Emma casts a silencing spell Regina taught her a few days ago, making her room a perfect bubble of silence.

The night is going to be unbearable, that much she’s already resigned to. Emma puts her phone on charge, and stares at the ceiling instead.

She’s never been much good at waiting.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time dawn rolls around, Emma has worn out every mattress spring with sleepless tossing and turning. Henry sends a text just before seven that confirms both he and Regina have all their limbs intact, but it isn’t enough 

Emma pulls on her running gear and ignores the fact that she’s barely broken into a jog for at least a month. The soft material of her tank top is pleasant against her skin, and the cropped pants fit like a glove as ever, and somehow being dressed only in black feels appropriate as she pulls her sneakers on. Pushing the earbuds in with some PJ Harvey ready to blast, she makes it out of the apartment with her water bottle. Her parents are still asleep, or pretending to be.

The town is slowly stumbling into life, storefronts half-opened and the low rumble of the early risers’ cars on the street is audible for a moment as Emma skips tracks. She picks up her pace as she approaches the park outside City Hall, roughly the halfway point between her apartment and Regina’s house, and it’s kind of pointless to pretend she’s heading anywhere else, even if she makes a few sprinted laps around the fountain to get her calf muscles burning.

Regina’s garden is as immaculate as ever, and Emma yanks her earbuds out as she jogs up to the porch, hanging them from the neck of her tank top before knocking on the door. Maybe it’s too paranoid to be jumpy, but she wants all her senses available before Regina makes an entrance; assuming, of course, that she actually answers the door.

Emma knocks again. And again.

“Here’s the thing--” Emma begins as the door swings open, but it’s Henry standing there, blinking and disgruntled in his pajamas.

“Mom says if you knock on the door one more time she’s going to replace it with a fiery portal,” Henry informs her. “I don’t think you should be here, Emma.”

“Is she okay?” Emma asks, because it’s important to know if an emotionally damaged sorceress is about to raze the town to the ground any time soon. “I know what Mary Margaret did might sound wrong--”

“No,” Henry corrects. “It was just wrong. I know Grams wanted to protect everyone from Cora--even my mom, really--but it was sneaky, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, kid,” Emma sighs. “I guess it was. We can’t give you a hard time about being good if we don’t apply the same rules to ourselves.”

“How noble,” Regina says, appearing behind Henry. “I hope you’re not planning on inviting yourself to breakfast, Miss Swan.”

“Not if you invite me in first,” Emma tries, clutching her water bottle a little too tight. “I mean, that’s why you came all the way to the door, right?”

“I came to tell Henry his breakfast is ready,” Regina corrects her, ushering Henry back inside with a gentle touch on his shoulder. He responds instinctively, a lifetime of responding to this woman making it so much more natural than anything he does around Emma. “And to tell you to get off my porch.”

“That’s pretty harsh,” Emma whines, and she can’t believe she’s actually a little upset to be excluded.

“Harsh?” Regina challenges, stepping over the threshold and jabbing a finger against Emma’s shoulder. “Killing someone’s mother is _harsh_.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Emma reminds Regina. “And I don’t think you can blame me for being born, just because you did such a crappy job all the times you tried to kill my mom. If you want to get into matricide, your Majesty.”

“My, what a big word for you,” Regina says with a sneer. “I said go,” she snaps a moment later. “Don’t push me.”

“Like this?” Emma mocks, and it’s the second dumbest thing she’s done in her life, raising a hand to gently shove Regina. With anyone else it would be a clumsy attempt at reducing the tension, a way of showing that nothing has really changed, but Regina likes sudden moves almost as much as she likes fairies--or Charmings--and Emma should really know better by now.

That’s what she’s thinking as she sails through the air and lands coccyx-first on a very solid, very red-brick garden path, just a few feet from the gate.

“Mom!” Henry yelps, running out from behind her to help Emma up.

“I’m fine,” Emma insists, even though her butt is going to be as bruised as her pride. She scrambles to her feet and strides back towards Regina. “You pull that crap again and I will kick your ass, Regina. I don’t care how sad or angry you are, you don’t treat people that way.”

“You promised, Mom,” Henry is frowning as he looks at them both. “How are you supposed to help me if you can’t keep one promise? You said you wouldn’t use magic to hurt anyone, especially Emma.”

“She provoked me,” Regina says, bottom lip all pouty like this is some dispute over whose turn it is to go on the swingset.

“Like hell I did,” Emma grumbles. “You know what? I’m done being the nice guy. I’m done understanding, not when nobody gives a damn about me or what I want. Henry, do you want to stay here or stay with me?”

“Don’t you dare--” Regina tries to interrupt, but Henry is already in motion.

“I don’t want to stay here,” he sighs. “Mom’s never going to change.”

“No!” Regina yelps. “Henry, please, I won’t do anything like that again. Just stay and have breakfast.”

“But you will do it again,” Henry points out, and if Emma weren’t so damn angry at Regina, she might try to stop Henry from hurting her any further. “I want to believe you, Mom, but I’m so scared that I’m gonna turn out evil.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Emma promises, but Henry looks at her with that scrunch of disapproval. He shakes his head, and it breaks her heart.

“I don’t think either of you can help me right now,” Henry sighs. “I’m going to ask Gram and Gramps if I can stay with them. I mean, they’re so good they made a true love baby, right? I know they shouldn’t have done what they did to your mom, but I still think they can help me.”

“No,” Regina spits. “No, I can’t let them take you, Henry. They’ve already cost me everything.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” Henry says, shuffling his feet. “But it’s safest for now, right? And the Blue Fairy can teach me magic until everything calms down.”

“No!” Regina gasps, but Henry closes his eyes and a moment later he’s gone, just purple smoke where he stood.

“Great,” Emma groans. “Now I have to explain this to my parents. One day we’re actually gonna have a normal conversation. About the weather, or if I’m getting enough iron in my diet or something.”

“You did this,” Regina snarls, rounding on Emma and as she lunges to choke her this time, it’s all about doing it with her bare hands, magic forgotten in the pure rage of the moment. Emma blocks her, and then steps aside.

“What did I tell you about attacking me?” Emma challenges. “Because I’m really in the mood for beating the crap out of someone, and it seems a lot like you’re volunteering.”

“Go to hell,” Regina growls.

“I’m done with this,” Emma announces, holding up her hands in defeat. “I’ve made excuses, and I’ve believed you when I had no reason to, and I’ve done everything short of grounding Henry for being rude to you, and that’s still not enough. Poor Regina, always the goddamned victim.”

“Sounds like your Savior complex in action again,” Regina argues. “Because all you’ve done is turn my son against me and then take him from me, over and over again. You and your precious family.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you deal with difficult parents by bumping them off,” Emma fires back, knowing she’s so far over the line that she might never see the line again. “Daddy didn’t stick up for me? Take his heart. Mommy might interfere with my twisted-ass curse? Send a pirate to pluck her heart out. Don’t you dare talk to me about family, Regina.”

“I forgot you’re an expert on the subject,” Regina drawls, and _fuck_ her, because now that their words are practically drawing blood, she looks like she’s enjoying herself again. “Tell me, if your parents decide that you leaving permanently with Henry is for the greater good, how long will they hesitate before giving you up again? An hour? A day? They might even give it the whole weekend, before pushing you over the line themselves.”

“Fuck you,” Emma snaps, and she’s channeling her magic so it crackles all along her arms, and all her thoughts are jumping fragments of slapping Regina, of blasting her back through that door, of redness and rage and revenge.

When the gray cloud clears, Emma’s standing in her own kitchen.

“Oh, come on,” she groans, because just once she wanted to really wipe the smugness off Regina’s face. She kicks a cabinet in pure frustration, and that brings Mary Margaret scurrying in.

“Henry appeared here in a cloud of smoke,” Mary Margaret begins, sounding every bit the schoolteacher. “And now you. Tell me, Emma... which part of this exactly is stopping Henry from using magic?”

“It’s complicated,” Emma offers, shrugging in what is hopefully her most adorable way, even though adorable is the last thing she feels. “I need a shower. And yeah, we might need to change things with Regina a little bit, but it’s a process.”

“Henry’s in the bathroom,” David says as he joins them, and sure enough Emma realizes the water is running. “And he told us what happened with Regina. Are you okay?”

“It was a moment’s overreaction,” Emma lies, and wonders just why in the hell she’s covering for Regina. Again. Maybe it’s because Emma knows when she calms down, later, she’ll regret giving more ammunition to people who would see Henry’s mom executed, given half a chance.

“Henry wants to come to the new house, with us,” Mary Margaret explains. “We’re going now. But we don’t want to do that if it’s going to upset you, Emma. You’re his mother.”

Emma almost snorts at the cheek of it. Now, suddenly, they’re getting picky about custody and who asks whom about what? Thank God Regina is in an entirely different building, because this would make her vaporize them all in a split-second.

“I guess... it’s fine. But I still want to see him, obviously. And Regina will too,” Emma says, keeping her tone nice and steady, hoping that will be enough to discourage any arguing. “Obviously after she calms down, and I’ll deal with the hand-off, if necessary.”

“You might enjoy the peace,” David says, his easy smile almost comforting when he turns it on Emma. “It’s been a pretty crazy few weeks.”

“It has,” Emma admits. “And at some point we’re going to need to talk about hearts, and Cora, and why exactly we run around pronouncing ourselves the good guys all the time. In the meantime, let’s just keep Henry safe, and as normal as possible.”

“He mentioned getting Blue to--”

“No way,” Emma interrupts, because on this one thing her spidey sense absolutely agrees with Regina. “Any magic problems: you call me, you call Regina. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret agrees. “And you know we’re just happy to help, right? Henry will be right back with you as soon as he feels ready.”

“I trust you,” Emma says, and at least in this particular way, she still does. “Now, someone get that kid out of the bathroom while there’s still a chance of some hot water left?”

***

Maybe she’s going to hell, but after the initial guilt, Emma does find herself enjoying the peace.

Having an apartment to herself again is a welcome return to a life she finds familiar, and a way of existing that she actually understands. While David and Mary Margaret host an informal family dinner every night, Emma skips it every other time, claiming she has work to catch up on and then crashing out in front of mind-numbing TV with a beer.

And if she doesn’t see Regina beyond a mutual glare from opposite ends of her garden path when Emma drops off Henry for his less frequent visits, well, maybe that’s for the best too. If Emma’s not cut out to mother Henry, she’s sure as hell not qualified to deal with the thorny mess of Regina. Even Archie, with the confidence from his cereal-box degree, doesn’t dare approach her at the moment, but Henry seems happy to spend limited time with her, and that’s enough for everyone right now.

“Henry,” David says over dinner two weeks into their new arrangement. Emma looks up from where she’s pushing peas around her plate. “Why don’t you tell Emma how you’re doing at school?”

“I haven’t done any magic in ten days now,” Henry says. “That’s what you really want to know, right?”

“That’s great, kid,” Emma says with a nod. “But I don’t mind hearing about school, too.”

“It is getting easier to control my magic, though,” Henry admits. “Even when Nicholas was being rude about my mom, I felt like it but I managed to stop in plenty of time.”

“That’s really great,” Emma replies, and she means it. “What’s making it easier?”

“Gramps has been teaching me all the cool sword stuff,” Henry explains. “So I save up when I feel tired or angry or like I want to smack someone, and I let it all out with the sword.”

“That’s... not a bad idea,” Emma says, smiling at her father, who blushes before taking a hearty mouthful of potatoes. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“It’s okay,” Henry says quite seriously. “You are pretty new at all this, Emma. Even if you are the Savior.”

She laughs, not least because it’s true, and there’s a tiny shift somewhere inside her that might be some hope returning.

***

Emma meets Henry after school most days, her hours flexible when Storybrooke behaves as it should. The weather is finally improving, and she leaves the Bug at home, and uses the cruiser to patrol only during the late spring showers that wreck her hair in three drops or less.

He’s scowling as he comes trailing out of the gate, and Emma wishes that wasn’t enough to make her stomach sink.

“Hey,” she greets him, squeezing his shoulder for a moment. He’s growing, she realizes. In her apartment in Boston he barely came up to her waist, but there’s a leanness to him as his body has started to stretch, and Emma can tell she isn’t looking quite as far down as she used to.

It’s impossible to remember the kid she imagined before Henry ever showed up, that hazy idea of a miniature Neal running around behind a white picket fence, an image that comforted and tortured her in roughly equal measure. Unsurprisingly, Neal is what Henry wants to talk about; they’ve been skirting around the subject for days. 

“I tried to call my dad,” Henry says, scuffing his feet against the sidewalk as they make their way home. Emma bites her tongue about how quickly they’ll wear out, even if Regina has provided him with the best of everything. He’s not ever going to have to make one pair of sneakers last all year, until they fall apart beyond what duct tape and stolen glue can repair. Even if Emma ends up being the only one buying him stuff from now on; he still deserves better than she ever had, and he will have it.

“When did you get a phone?” Emma asks, because she damn sure hasn’t given him anything but a walkie-talkie.

“Mom gave me one a while ago,” Henry confesses. “She said in case I ever needed her but you wouldn’t let me see her. It was before... you know.”

Emma grinds her teeth but manages to hold back a comment, focusing on Henry’s conversation instead.

“So what did Neal say?” She asks.

“He answered but then said he had to go,” Henry said. “Like, I’m pretty sure it’s just because it was me. Does he hate me, Emma?”

“Of course not,” Emma corrects in a hurry, as they approach the apartment. She has some snacks in the fridge for once, and it saves a trip to Granny’s. “He was probably just busy, Henry. And New York can be pretty loud, so maybe it wasn’t a good place to stop and chat, you know?”

“He doesn’t hate me?” Henry asks again. Emma shakes her head and ushers him into the quiet apartment. Henry pushes past her, heading straight for the fridge. This, at least, they have in common, and Emma follows right behind. “Then I want to go see him,” Henry continues. “This weekend, in fact.”

“Okay, less of the demanding first of all,” Emma answers. “And don’t forget the magic word, when you ask someone a favor.”

“It’s not a favor,” Henry says, pulling out two cans of soda and passing one to Emma. He frowns at his for a second, no doubt some Pavlovian reaction to what Regina would think of Emma’s shopping choices, but the kid already demolished the juice and milk stock brought home two days ago, without actually living in the apartment. “I want to go. And besides, across the border I won’t be able to do this.”

He clicks his fingers, a small and wavering flame appearing on his thumb.

“What the hell?” Emma demands, putting her own soda down on the counter with a thud. “Is that... are you threatening me?”

“Do I need to?” Henry asks, and right before Emma blinks she could swear she sees that shimmer crossing his face again. “Don’t you want to see my dad, Emma?”

“I don’t, honestly,” Emma admits, knowing a lie at this point will be like throwing gasoline right at the actual naked flame. “Listen, kid, you can’t push him. I know you want to but--”

“I don’t want to push,” Henry tells her. “I want to be normal, and not have you and my mom looking at me like I’m made of dynamite or something. And I don’t want my dad to feel sick when he looks at me. And I don’t want people to be dead just because of me!”

“Oh, Henry,” Emma breathes, and she leans over to blow out the flame before scooping him up in the most sincere hug of her entire life. “You didn’t ask for any of this, did ya?”

“No,” he mumbles against her shoulder. “I just want everyone to treat me the way they used to. I don’t like keeping secrets, either. Keeping secrets is what evil people do, like my mom. It makes me feel crazy, just like when she told me the curse was all in my head.”

“She panicked,” Emma explains, wincing as she takes yet another blow on Regina’s behalf. “I think you know already how hard it is to keep all this in your head. She wasn’t very well, for a long time.”

“Am I sick?” Henry asks, pulling away and moving around the counter. “Is that what people are gonna say if they find out?”

“No,” Emma insists. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Henry. It’s just magic.”

“How the hell would you know?” Henry demands, and the hard set of his jaw returns, making him every bit Regina’s son.

“Language!” Emma blurts, caught off guard.

“You say it all the time,” Henry says. “But really, Emma. What do you know about any of this? I feel weird things, all the time. When I’m sleeping I have these dreams, and not like the fiery room from before, but about places I’ve never been. I can do all this stuff...”

“Hurting people?” Emma whispers, trying not to look horrified as she stares at her son.

“I... yeah, I don’t want to talk about it,” Henry replies, changing his mind in an instant. “I know I was gonna hang with you today, but I’m going to go back to Gram and Gramps. It’s hotdogs for dinner tonight.”

“You can stay,” Emma offers, but they both hear the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. She’s relieved when Henry walks towards the door instead of disappearing in smoke again.

“I meant it about my dad,” Henry throws back over his shoulder. “I want to see him soon.”

Emma watches him go, and for a moment the strongest impulse is to go to Regina, see if she knows about what dreams Henry’s been having, if she has any better idea for how to stop this creeping dread that’s wrapped around Emma’s spine almost constantly now, like the squeeze of tiny, cold fingers that might just paralyze her.

Instead she trades her soda for a beer, and turns on some music loud enough to drown out her thoughts.

***

She's on her feet and reaching for the bat in the corner before even opening her eyes. Emma takes a halting step, trying desperately to remember which boards creak, before easing out towards the open staircase, using the noise from downstairs to mask her movement.

It's probably Henry, sneaking back in after lights out at his grandparents' new place. No matter how much he tries to tough it out, Emma knows he's still having bad dreams and temper tantrums, and that's already meant two midnight calls to come and bring him back to his ‘room’ in the apartment. Henry’s usually better at sneaking around than this, though.

Emma sees that only the kitchen light is burning, the soft yellow light almost comforting as she eases her way down the first few steps, bat resting on her shoulder for maximum swing. She didn't think twice about dashing downstairs in a ratty Trail Blazers tank top and bright red underpants. She's had to start bothering with pajamas because of the kid, so on the nights he's not around she enjoys the little freedoms. And the last time she came let another person see her dressed like this was--

Regina.

Who is standing at the kitchen counter, beating something in a bowl like it's not four in the morning. Dressed in a black trenchcoat, hair a little mussed like she's been pulling at it, Regina beats some kind of mixture with a whisk and stares off into space like she's the only person there.

Emma lowers the bat, pressing it against her leg as a reminder not to completely lose her temper, and clears her throat. 

Regina looks up, startled.

"Oh," she says, after a long minute. "I thought Henry might like some pudding. It's his favorite."

Emma descends the rest of the way, dropping the bat on the sofa and approaching Regina like she might a cornered wild animal.

"Chocolate pudding?" She asks, looking at the ingredients on the counter.

"Yes," Regina snaps. "It's his favorite," she repeats, as if it’s some kind of actual explanation for what she’s doing right now.

"Huh," Emma replies, not thinking. "He never orders it at the diner."

"It is his favorite," Regina says, the words little more than a growl. "But he knows he's only allowed it as a special treat."

"...and he likes the way you make it?" Emma asks.

"He used to," Regina sighs, dropping the bowl and whisk on the counter. For the first time she seems aware of where she is and what she's doing, and her panic builds as she takes in the apartment in a flurry of darting glances. "Oh, what was I thinking? I couldn't sleep," she says, voice almost pleading. "I haven't been sleeping well without him in the house. I start thinking about all the things that he could be doing and... well."

“Figures,” Emma replies with a snort. “Although you know he’s staying with my parents, Regina. Apart from when he has bad dreams or little magic accidents.”

“He’s been having those and you didn’t think to send him back to me?” Regina demands, rounding on Emma in full-on scary mode.

“Last time I saw you properly you dumped me on my ass in your yard,” Emma reminds her. “And uh, Henry didn’t suggest it, so...”

“Of course,” Regina responds. “I forgot we’re all living at the whim of an eleven year-old. The boy prince, after all.”

“You were royalty,” Emma counters. “You should understand acting entitled.”

“Which is why it’s the last thing I wanted for my son,” Regina snarls. “I would have thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

“What are you doing in my kitchen, Regina?” Emma asks, and it sounds a hell of a lot more tender than she meant it to.

“I don’t know,” Regina admits, gripping the counter and closing her eyes. “I just wanted to be close to Henry, make him some pudding as a treat. And then it turns out he’s not even here.”

“Sorry,” Emma blurts. “I think he’s still upset about us fighting in front of him. And he wants to see Neal, and I don’t know how to let him down gently...”

Regina starts to answer, but she bursts into tears instead. Emma watches, horrified and fighting back her own tears. There should be a warning about people having breakdowns in front of you when it’s the middle of the night and you’re not wearing any pants. There should be warnings that people like Regina even exist, and about how damn good they are at getting under your skin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Regina says, gathering herself pretty quickly. “I didn’t mean to hurt Henry by letting him see it, either.”

“You weren’t the only one who did,” Emma reminds her. “This is on both of us, but most of all it’s a really crappy situation.”

“I feel like all I do is cry lately,” Regina confesses.

“I’m not so much with the crying,” Emma replies. “But I’m gonna seriously mess up my hands if I keep punching walls so often.”

“Brute force,” Regina sighs. “Of course.” She stirs the bowl of pudding again, and honestly Emma doesn’t even recognize the ceramic dish. Off her stare, Regina rolls her eyes and wipes away the tears with the back of her hand.

“I brought the bowl. And the ingredients. I see you haven’t mastered grocery shopping yet.”

“Been a little busy,” Emma lies. She approaches Regina cautiously, but decides that a bold gesture is what this impromptu summit needs. Risking life and limb, she dips her finger in the bowl and scoops out some goop, popping it straight in her mouth. Only when the mixture meets Emma’s tongue, it crackles like a mini electric shock, making her squeal.

“You use magic protection on your desserts?” Emma accuses a moment later. “Christ, Regina. Just how anal are you?”

“I don’t do any such thing,” Regina huffs. “You have magic too, you idiot. I shouldn’t be surprised that you haven’t managed to control it yet.”

“I do practice the things you taught me,” Emma counters. “I try, with Henry, but it feels like he’s already on some advanced level most of the time. Wouldn’t be the first time I fell behind in class, you know?”

“We’ve done some new things, the few times I’ve seen him,” Regina admits, putting the bowl down on the counter. “Anyway, I should go.”

“I like pudding too,” Emma says, in a pathetically small voice. “And if you promise not to throw me on the floor,” she continues, sounding a little more confident. “Maybe we could catch up on Henry.”

“Don’t you have to sleep?” Regina asks. “I assume even your take on being Sheriff requires some kind of alertness.”

“I’m awake now,” Emma says. “Sun’ll be up soon, so why not stick that on the stove, hmm?”

“I’m impressed you knew that it goes on the stove,” Regina mocks, but she starts to unbutton her coat. “A pot to cook it in would help.”

“Well, why stop raiding my kitchen now, just because I’m here?” Emma challenges. “I should probably go grab some pants, actually.”

“I don’t mind,” Regina says, and Emma could swear she sees the other woman blush as she turns away to pull a pot from the cupboard by the stove. Shrugging, Emma pulls herself up on the counter, unembarrassed now by her bare legs.

“You don’t make much mess,” Emma points out once the burner is lit. “As burglars go, you’re not the worst.”

“It’s not my first time,” Regina reminds her. “Although the place was tidier when... your mother... still lived here.”

“Well, try not to frame anyone for murder this time, maybe?” Emma sighs. “Can I ask you something and get a straight-up answer?”

“You can try,” Regina says, stirring the pot with the rest of the ingredients added and looking pretty relaxed in her black skirt and creamy sweater that drops off one shoulder. Sometimes, Emma thinks she still sees the hints of Storybrooke frozen in time creeping in, or maybe the 80s just got fashionable again, she’s never really kept up on fashion stuff beyond what fits and what doesn’t need much in the way of ironing, ever.

“Is it... shit, there’s no good way to say this,” Emma grumbles. “Okay, the other day Henry was talking about wanting to see Neal, and he kind of, well, threatened me. Just with this little flame, but his face... should we be scared of our own kid? I guess that’s what I’m asking.”

Regina stirs for a moment, before dropping her head and letting out a slow, steady sigh.

“I’m trying to...”

She trails off, but Emma knows better by now, and doesn’t push.

“You trusted me to teach him,” Regina tries again. “Because you know I was taught by Rumplestiltskin. You assumed, I suppose, that I know which methods work, and which are obviously evil?”

“Something like that,” Emma admits. “Henry said you had actual lessons, anyway. And you’ve known Gold a long time.”

“I’m trying, I really am, to do everything I can for Henry,” Regina continues. Her stirring apparently done with, she turns the heat off and starts pouring the cooked pudding into a clean, glass bowl that Emma recognizes as one left behind by Mary Margaret; so far Emma’s used it for popcorn and nothing else. “But I don’t really remember, not clearly, how I was actually taught.”

“I thought you didn’t forget anything,” Emma presses as gently as she knows how, swinging her legs out and letting her heels hit the cabinet doors with dull thuds. If this conversation has a beat, it’s provided by that, like the slow drums of war.

“It’s a blur,” Regina admits. “All I wanted, all I cared about was finding a way to revive the dead. Everything else was a distraction, and when my attempts with Frankenstein failed, I stopped questioning what Rumple was teaching me; I took hearts and... everything else. Until I found a way to put my plans in action.”

“So you’re saying I should be scared?” Emma confirms, pushing them back to the original topic. Even knowing it’s real and having seen the zombie-movie-set of the Enchanted Forest, Emma still feels uncomfortable dwelling on the Evil Queen stuff.

“I don’t know,” Regina says, her voice cracking. “If I had to... if it came to protecting myself, with magic, I think I could. I’m just clinging desperately to the hope I’ll never have to.”

“There’s always--”

“No,” Regina whispers. “Not that.”

“I think we have to get ourselves prepared,” Emma tells her. “To get into a headspace, and it might take some time, but we need to be able to do something if Henry is putting himself or anyone else in danger. I’m not going to wait for the bodies to pile up.”

“Like I would?” Regina replies. “I don’t want him to end up feeling this way, no. I don’t want any more blood on his hands. I know you all think none of this affects me, but he is just a child and it’s very, very hard to bear sometimes.”

“I get that,” Emma says softly, waiting for the attempt at empathy to be slapped down. “And I can accuse you of many things, Regina, but not feeling things is not on the list. You feel things maybe too much, or too deeply, I think? But then, what would I know, right?”

“Is Henry... does he talk to you?” Regina asks, and there’s something pleading in it. “I know how much worse it is when everything has to be a secret, you see, and--”

“He’s been having some dreams,” Emma says. “It sounds like they’re showing him things he’s capable of. Of ways to hurt people.”

“It could be memories from the Dark One,” Regina muses, worry dancing across her facial muscles as her mouth forms a tight pout. “I tried to break it once, like a curse.”

“Can I True Love’s Kiss him out of it?” Emma seizes on the chance like a frat boy running towards a fresh keg, but Regina shakes her head.

“It’s not really a curse,” Regina informs her. “And the thing about the Dark One’s power is that it’s almost a living thing. It doesn’t give up its host too easily.”

“Shit,” Emma groans, before leveraging herself back down onto the floor. Ducking past Regina, Emma swipes some warm pudding from the bowl, smirking as Regina tries to slap her hand away, only to miss.

With a moment’s consideration while some freaking delicious chocolate teases her tastebuds, Emma makes her decision.

“I figure my parents will ask me sooner or later,” Emma starts to explain, turning to the mini-safe in the cupboard next to Regina. “But I don’t plan on telling them the combination. You, on the other hand--”

“You trust me?” Regina asks, just about covering her open-mouthed shock in time.

“When it comes to Henry? Yeah,” Emma explains, her hand hovering over the keypad. “I think you’re the one person we can be sure will only use it as a last resort. For real.”

“I don’t like it,” Regina whispers, sounding panicked. Emma reaches out instinctively, pulling Regina close enough to see the keys. For some reason, she thinks saying the numbers aloud might prove to be a bad idea. The safe pops open when the six meaningless digits are entered, and in front of Emma’s limited cash reserves and her spare gun sits the dagger, its gleam somehow still bright despite the shadows over it.

 _Henry_ , it says as clearly as before, and from the ragged exhale next to her, Emma discovers Regina was harboring the same irrational hope that it would somehow all be a terrible mistake.

“Will you remember the number?” Emma says, closing the safe again and entering it slowly.

“Yes,” Regina snaps. “At some point we’ll have to test what the dagger actually does, and how,” she adds. “Just not so soon, please.”

“We can put that off,” Emma agrees. “We might have to deal with letting Henry see Neal at some point sooner, though. I don’t like giving in to him, but pointless fights aren’t a great idea with all this magic swirling around.”

“Tantrums are sort of worrying,” Regina says, turning back to the bowl. Before she can cover it, Emma sees her chance to grab another mouthful, and without thinking she reaches around Regina to claim it. Somewhere in the invasion of personal space, Regina jerks backwards and Emma smears pudding over her shoulder before almost losing her balance completely.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Regina snaps. “What is it about you that makes you so clumsy around me?”

“I don’t know,” Emma answers, biting her bottom lip as Regina turns away, looking for something to wipe the chocolate off with. Emma grabs a dishcloth from the oven handle and follows after Regina, stepping up with the cloth in hand to offer her services. “I didn’t mean it,” Emma says as she wipes the chocolate away gently, not looking Regina in the eye.

“You’re a klutz,” Regina grumbles, but instead of pulling away, she waits there with Emma’s hand pressing the no-longer-necessary cloth against the bare skin of Regina’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Emma breathes, and she makes her next mistake by looking up. Meeting Regina’s eye is daunting at the best of times, but this undercurrent Emma’s been so desperately trying to ignore is suddenly as loud and as potent as her magic has ever been. She parts her lips to say something inane, to make excuses and get the hell back to bed where there are no surprise visitors and no desserts, but Regina is watching Emma’s mouth so intently that she forgets to say anything at all.

This time Regina is the one who makes the move, head darting forward with a suddenness that makes Emma jump. Their noses bump at the first attempt, Regina misjudging the angle and blushing furiously at the mistake.

“S’okay,” Emma mumbles, leaning the rest of the way to make sure the kiss does still happen. Regina’s lips are bare and slightly chapped against her own, and it’s so different without her omnipresent lipstick that Emma’s brain is confused for a second or two. Until Regina kisses back, one hand slipping behind Emma’s neck and drawing her closer still. 

It’s surprisingly tentative this time, little more than shifting pressure of mouth against mouth, soft and repeated and quietly greedy in taking kiss after kiss, each one making Emma’s breath hitch in her throat until she draws Regina into a deeper contact, parting her lips with Emma’s own tongue and pressing against Regina’s in tender movements.

Then Regina moans, barely even a noise at all, and soft and tender and anything even close to that is off the table. Emma backs Regina against the counter where the abandoned pudding still stands, exploring warm skin with her mouth, kissing and nipping her way along Regina’s proud jawline before flicking her earlobe with a playful touch of Emma’s tongue.

“It would be a shame,” Emma murmurs against Regina’s neck, still half-expecting to be shoved away for daring to stop. “If that lovely pudding went to waste.”

She dips her finger into the bowl and draws it across the part of Regina’s collarbone bared by her sweater. Emma doesn’t pause before lowering her mouth to trace the stripe of chocolate, placing an open-mouthed kiss and then taking it off in a series of slow, teasing licks.

“Should we...?” Regina starts to ask, but Emma bites down just then, not quite hard enough to mark, but it stops Regina’s question in its tracks.

“If you don’t want to, say the word,” Emma mutters, but Regina simply tightens her grip on the back of Emma’s neck. “Then let’s find out what else you can do in the kitchen, huh?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, where did we leave things... oh yeah, making out in Emma's kitchen. Wonder what happens next...

“Don’t you have a--oh--bed?” Regina asks as Emma sucks gently on the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat. How many times when Regina’s been simmering with rage has Emma been distracted by the elegant tension of her neck, betraying the anger in Regina that she tried and usually failed to keep in check? Like the vein in her forehead, this soft skin gives her away every time. 

“I didn’t think the Evil Queen was so conventional,” Emma teases, only to feel Regina go rigid under her touch.

“Don’t call me that,” Regina snaps, although her darting eyes suggest she knows she has no right to insist. “I don’t...”

“Okay,” Emma says, concerned at the note of distress. “Regina. Just Regina. Who makes chocolate pudding. And rolls her eyes so much she’s going to strain something one of these days.”

“I like that you thinking mocking me will get you into my pants,” Regina threatens, a hint of a pout forming around the words.

“Lucky for me, you’re wearing a skirt,” Emma fires back, letting her hand trail slowly down Regina’s abdomen to make the point. “Assuming you want to--”

“I kissed you, didn’t I?” Regina asks, but apparently that’s as rhetorical as most other questions she throws Emma’s way, because Regina has her mouth on Emma’s again in an instant. Emma can feel her every sense zooming in on the sensations of the kiss, that heart-pounding newness making her almost breathless with nerves as she learns the way Regina likes to take charge, the way she caresses with her tongue when Emma would have guessed an approach much more domineering. Mostly it’s that _oh holy shit_ feeling of trying to keep up and show Regina that Emma knows exactly how to do this, too.

Regina’s hair is like silk under Emma’s hands, but she can’t keep those hands from wandering now that she has permission. The _hell, we should not be doing this_ chorus in the back of her mind is currently competing with the _oh, do this because it might be the only shot you get_ voice, and it’s lucky, really, that Regina’s hand slips under Emma’s tee at that point, because the firm pressure of Regina’s palm pressed against an already-hard nipple is exactly the short-circuit Emma needs to stop thinking altogether.

There are counters, and the delicious prospect of chocolate so nearby, but from the grasping and near-tearing of clothes, it’s clear that naked and touching is all that matters. The floor, Emma supposes, will have to do, and she drops as gracefully as she can to her knees in slow stages, dragging Regina down with her as they continue to kiss in increasingly breathless bursts.

“I haven’t--” Regina huffs a moment later when presented with Emma’s bare breasts. They’re kneeling on the cool tile, facing each other like they’ve been interrupted at prayer, Regina cupping each of Emma’s breasts now that the tee is gone. “I mean, I don’t know what to do, really.”

“It’s a cliché,” Emma whispers, pushing Regina’s dress down the rest of the way over her hips, before stealing a kiss. “But just start with what you like done to you. I’ll, uh, let you know if it works.”

And that, apparently, is all the pep talk Regina needs.

She pulls Emma the rest of the way down on the floor, their discarded clothes forming a sort of blanket, but bare skin meets tile and causes quiet little hisses all the same, making Regina smile into their kisses and Emma forget how to breathe as a result. 

“How long have you wanted me?” Regina demands, leaning over Emma and kissing her collarbone as she waits for an answer. “Just since the last time you kissed me? Before?”

“I spent a long time being really mad at you,” Emma deflects, vowing then and there that Regina will never, ever know that the answer is the moment that she first offered a glass of cider. “Fuck!” She amends, as Regina’s mouth travels far enough for the first firm flick of tongue against nipple. Emma should warn, perhaps, that she’s especially sensitive there, but with all the cockiness of someone who has done this many times before, Regina is already experimenting, the first nip of teeth making Emma’s back arch more than the goddamn Toll Bridge.

“Hmm,” Regina murmurs against Emma’s breast, before trailing her way in rushed kisses to the other. “You’re not so very complicated, Em-ma.”

Emma really wants to shoot that arrogance down, but now Regina is sucking and there’s no response forming in Emma’s throat besides an honest-to-God whimper. Well, they say bad girls are always the best, and Regina has certainly been very, very bad.

Which is enough to freeze Emma mid-reaction. This is Regina. The woman who would have killed her a few months ago, who has a vendetta against everyone Emma has ever cared about, except for Henry. And oh, Jesus, what if Henry ever finds out about this? Can he even wrap his head around it? When it no doubt turns nasty, will he be the sweet and understanding kid that Emma’s come to love, or the creepy and vindictive impression of Gold that seems to be gradually taking hold?

“Regina--” Emma gasps, with no idea of what she actually wants to say.

“I know,” Regina sighs, pulling away and kneeling over Emma. “I know, but you touched me, and now I’m touching you, and isn’t it the first time in weeks you’ve just felt... okay?”

“It is,” Emma admits. “Fuck, it actually is. It’s been so long since I let anyone...”

“You forget,” Regina supplies. “You forget that we’re designed for this. To be touched, and held, and comforted. That these tired bodies that bruise and don’t get enough sleep and start to ache just a little when the winter sets in, they’re also capable of beautiful and exciting things.”

“That was... kinda poetic,” Emma responds, scrunching up her nose. “I was gonna go with ‘but you’re really hot’, for what it’s worth.”

“I suppose you’re not so bad,” Regina ventures, the hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. “But if we’re doing this, we should choose it. I’m so tired of things just happening, aren’t you?”

Emma sees it then, the confirmation of the gaps in Henry’s story that she filled in with imagination. People call Regina ‘dark’ when they mean evil, but for the first time Emma lets herself really look at the shadows that are so painfully obvious now. It’s not an excuse, it’s not. But it goes a hell of a long way to explaining the way Regina is.

“Then, Regina, you shall have your bed after all,” Emma offers, because it’s the only way she can find to say ‘yes’ and ‘I choose this’ without risking something far more revealing being said instead. She’ll understand Regina, to a point, perhaps even let Regina work out some things about Emma too, if she hasn’t already. But Emma will not give up those private parts of her history, won’t let anyone pity her for the life she was sent to, or (she worries, still in silence) let the remnant of the Evil Queen enjoy anything else that might count as a victory.

Regina kisses her again, desperately and almost missing Emma’s bottom lip entirely at first, and that’s enough to shake the last thought away. Whatever Regina has or hasn’t suffered, even she wouldn’t be glad if Emma has suffered the same.

They start getting up, or try to, but all the touching it involves lets hands wander to still-uncharted territory, and Emma finds that once she grabs hold of Regina’s ass it’s almost impossible to let go. As they settle on the floor again, Regina’s thigh is pressed between Emma’s own, and through the damp red cotton of her underwear, Emma feels her hips helplessly starting to grind against smooth skin.

So maybe it doesn’t have to be silk sheets and candlelight (not that Emma could offer either upstairs anyway) but more about constant, searing kisses with mumbled, nonsensical words all tangled up in them, and naked breasts against naked breasts, the gentle rocking of their bodies letting hardened nipples brush sometimes, and others simply soft skin against soft skin.

Regina slides her leg away, steadying herself on top as though pulling away for even a second will stop them again, and maybe it would, but Emma has no intention of finding out. She pushes her own panties down as far as she can reach, watching Regina wriggle to do the same.

“I can do better,” she gasps, but Regina doesn’t seem to mind. Emma is the first to press her hand between Regina’s legs, and after an initial moan of either satisfaction or relief, Regina mirrors the action with her own slender fingers.

“Good,” Regina whimpers as Emma presses two fingers gently against Regina’s clit. “Oh! Good, good,” she adds as Emma starts to rub in tight little circles, biting her bottom lip at how wet Regina already is.

Emma’s moving her hand higher, enjoying the pressure of Regina laying almost completely on top of her. She panics when Regina shifts to the side, but it’s just to allow her hand access to Emma, and Regina clearly isn’t expecting to find Emma quite so wet and willing judging by the shocked ‘oh!’ when her fingers first graze over Emma’s aching clit.

Despite the cool air in the room they’re both sweating now, and when they kiss it’s shallow and punctuated by whimpers as each experiments with pace and pressure, and if Emma’s heard anything sexier than Regina’s muttered ‘fuck’ when Emma first slips a finger inside her, well, Emma’s damned if she can remember it.

And Regina can certainly freaking multitask, first time with a woman or not. She plays Emma’s body like there’s a secret manual somewhere, and although she seems a little self-conscious about her fingernails, Emma rocks into the touch to encourage more contact, because it isn’t hurting and honestly by now it would be worth it.

“More,” Emma groans when Regina is thrusting two fingers in and out, and when she adds a third she crooks them even more, making every move in and out press hard against Emma’s g-spot. She’s a goner, and she wanted so badly to get Regina off first, but fuck it, it’s not a fucking competition and oh god what is that twisting motion and oh, oh, oh--

Emma actually bites Regina’s shoulder to muffle her embarrassingly loud cry, because despite the occasional taking off the edge in the shower or to aid sleep on a restless night, it is a long, long time since Emma came that hard. Maybe if her asshole landlady back in Boston hadn’t ‘forgotten’ to include Emma’s trusty vibrator with the rest of her belongings, but it was one thing Emma hadn’t yet found a store in Storybrooke to replace it from.

“Please,” Regina whispers, pushing down on Emma’s fingers when her hand goes momentarily limp. Gathering herself, Emma licks at the mark on Regina’s shoulder in apology and uses one more burst of energy to roll them over, Regina’s back hitting the tile with a dull thud.

“Oh, I didn’t forget you,” Emma murmurs against Regina’s ear. She nips at Regina’s earlobe to emphasize the point as Emma’s fingers start to move again, this time stealing the corkscrew sort of motion Regina seems to be such a fan of. On top again, Emma can free her other hand, first to pluck at Regina’s very hard nipples, and then move down to rub her clit in those firm circles until Regina is tensing around Emma’s fingers and coming with the most contented sigh Emma has ever heard in her life. When Emma decides to show off and start a rapidfire second round, Regina actually shrieks, her hand over her eyes as she comes a second time, like she can’t believe it.

Her thighs are trembling when Emma works her hand free, and only when Regina looks up again does Emma start very deliberately to lick her fingers clean.

“What happened to my bed?” Regina rasps, before a husky chuckle erupts from her. “Oh, God.”

“Right?” Emma replies. “I mean, that wasn’t my finesse game or anything, but I think we both needed it too badly to wait.”

“Hard to imagine you have finesse in anything,” Regina grumbles, pushing herself back to a sitting position. “I’m freezing, for the record.”

“I’m starting to get cold now, too,” Emma confesses. “Did you want to stay?”

It’s more than either of them is supposed to offer, really, but Emma can’t help herself. She sees Regina’s indecision and barrels straight ahead. “I mean, we can go to bed. I’ll bring the pudding, maybe something to drink. I’m a pretty good hostess.”

“I can see that,” Regina sighs. “Fine. My magic is a little unreliable in... this state, anyway. Wouldn’t want to end up sending myself to Wisconsin or something.”

“How is it,” Emma asks, standing on slightly shaky legs and helping Regina up. “That you’ve never been out of this town, and you still know to mock Wisconsin?”

“I’m a quick study,” Regina says, unabashed in her nakedness. She stoops for a moment and collects her discarded clothes, including the black heels that Emma might insist she leave on next time; provided, of course, that there is a next time. “I’ll take water. To drink, I mean.”

“What, you expect table service?” Emma grumbles, moving to get two glasses from the cupboard but picking up her tee on the way. As she moves to put it on, Regina lays a hand on her forearm.

“Don’t,” she says, the simple word full of intent. “Now, hurry up and get upstairs.”

Emma shakes her head as she watches Regina march up the stairs like she owns the place, and wonders all over again how they got to this stage. She fills the glasses and snags the bowl of pudding, opting to leave the spoon behind.

If this is a one night deal, Emma’s damn well going to get the most night she possibly can.

***

“Emma?” Snow’s voice carries up the stairs effortlessly. In that stomach-flipping moment of sheer, icy panic, Emma is silently grateful that she hasn’t started sleeping downstairs since her parents moved out.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Regina groans, face mashed against the pillow. “Is there nothing that woman won’t ruin?”

“You think this is something worth ruining?” Emma asks, but cuts off any reply with a yelled, “Be down in a minute!”

“It’s not even ten,” Regina groans. “She’s always been the same. Up with the goddamned lark and never mind how anyone else might be feeling.”

“Could you maybe spare me on the uh, memories from the palace stuff?” Emma says, getting up and yanking on the first pair of sweatpants she can find, opting to ignore the chocolate milkshake stain on the thigh. “It’s a bit weird, don’t you think?”

“I can’t help who I used to be,” Regina snaps. “It’s not as though it makes us related.” She flips the covers off then, reaching for her own clothes.

“Hey!” Emma hisses. “Wait, I didn’t mean to piss you off. Let me get rid of Mary Margaret and then we can talk, okay?”

“What makes you think I want to hang around?” Regina retorts, keeping her back turned to Emma.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Emma soothes. “But if you could, for me, just so we can make sure everything’s fine with us... you know, for Henry and uh, stuff?”

“Fine,” Regina says, getting back in bed without looking at Emma. There’s a suspiciously liquid quality to her voice, and oh fuck, if she’s crying then Emma has no clue what to do about that. “Don’t let her stay too long.”

“I won’t,” Emma promises, pulling on a tank top and a hoodie over it. She catches her reflection in the mirror just in time, pulling her seriously mussed hair into a ponytail and scrubbing an errant streak of chocolate from her neck with her sleeve. “Wish me luck!”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Regina replies, and Emma rolls her eyes before heading out and down to face her mother.

“Hey!” Emma says, and right away she sounds super fake and way too cheerful. And God, she probably smells exactly like... well, okay, no need for hugs this morning maybe. “Is Henry okay?”

She closed the door on purpose to avoid Regina hearing anything less than complimentary that Mary Margaret might say, but there’s a telltale creak that suggests it just reopened. Emma coughs in the vain hope of covering it, but her mother doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s fine,” Mary Margaret assures Emma. “Mostly fine, anyway. There was an incident in the schoolyard this morning, just after we got to school and... no, I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with him.”

“Oh God,” Emma groans. “What happened?”

“I just saw some pushing and shoving when the kids were lining up,” Mary Margaret replies.

“That’s not exactly the actions of the Dark One,” Emma points out. “He said the other day he hasn’t used magic, and that David is helping him channel all his emotions into swordfighting.”

“Yes, but I saw Ava--Gretel--push him pretty hard and a moment later the branch from the old oak tree came crashing down. It missed her by inches.”

“Right,” Emma considers. “But it’s an ‘old’ tree, put there by a curse. A curse that broke with like, an earthquake. And then magic came back. And we had a giant stomping around. So a little structural damage...”

“...isn’t that unlikely,” Mary Margaret finishes. “I know. I came by the station because I have a free period, but now that I think about it I’m probably just overreacting. He’s a good boy, really.”

“Why do you sound less sure than the last time you gave me that lecture?” Emma pounces, partly out of concern and partly to keep conversation away from why she’s not at the station yet.

“He sulks a lot,” Mary Margaret explains. “A lot more than he ever used to, even after he worked out that Regina had lied to him about the curse. You know, obviously, there have been a couple of incidents and we called you... but he’s sleeping really badly.”

“I can ask Regina if there’s something more we can do for him. Magically, I mean,” Emma says, remembering a moment too late to look reluctant about it. And the ‘we’ was a disturbing slip of the tongue, to boot. “And maybe we should try sending him back to Archie? Even if it’s just an hour a week of hanging out with Pongo and someone he likes, that might do Henry some good.”

“See?” Mary Margaret says, her smile suddenly beaming. “You’re thinking like a mother already. Now, one more thing, about Neal...”

“Henry told me he wants to see him,” Emma interrupts. “And I’ve called, and emailed. All I ever get in response is ‘not yet’. You really think I should push?”

“I think anything that stops Henry getting emotional right now is a good thing. You’ll have to make sure Regina doesn’t interfere, of course,” Mary Margaret continues. Emma winces, because if anything is going to bring an eavesdropping Regina hurtling downstairs, it’ll be that. A moment passes, and silence reigns. Emma takes a relieved and very deep breath.

“I’ll pick Henry up later,” Emma offers. “Hopefully by then I can get a day and a time out of Neal. It’s a long drive, so we might need to get Henry to be patient. Not the kind of thing a person does in a day.”

“I’m sure if you asked him nicely, Emma,” Mary Margaret says in a little sing-song voice, and Emma just can’t take the good-natured teasing a moment longer.

“You know, I never had a mom?” Emma muses. “But I always thought that if I ever found her, she’d want better for me than some jerk who dumped me and let me go to prison for a crime he committed. Guess I was wrong about that, too.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret gasps. “Of course I only want the best for you. But Neal is Henry’s father, and that means he’s most likely your True Love, sweetheart. You can’t just give up on that.”

Emma tries for half a second to hold it back, but she cracks up laughing all the same. It’s real, bone-shaking laughter, too. Maybe because this is all an unholy mess, or maybe because a naked Regina is still lying around in Emma’s bed, or maybe because Emma has heard a lot of crap in her life but nothing tops this, she laughs and laughs until tears stream down her face.

“It’s fine,” she rasps when she catches her breath. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll smooth things over with Henry. And if there’s anything else you’re not sure about...”

“Of course,” Mary Margaret says, leaning over to squeeze Emma’s upper arm. “You should go shower if you have to be at work.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, nodding at her mother as she moves towards the apartment’s front door.

“And whoever you left upstairs?” Mary Margaret says with a ridiculously big wink. “Don’t forget to offer them a shower too. Although I’d be careful about company when Henry is back, of course.”

Emma tries very hard not to imagine the ground opening up and swallowing her, even though it’s kind of what she desperately wants, because magic makes it a little too risky in terms of it actually happening. Figures she’d have to wind up with the ‘cool mom’, and no doubt there’ll be condoms left by the bed and God knows what else as Mary Margaret tries to parent while being the same age.

Groaning, Emma trudges back upstairs.

“Busted?” Regina asks, sitting up in bed and reading a copy of the newspaper that she’s clearly magicked in from somewhere. Emma will be getting dirty looks from the neighbors all week now.

“Half-busted,” Emma tells her. “At least your identity remains secret, Hannah Montana.”

“I should have known that was your level,” Regina sighs. “I suppose coffee is too much to ask for?”

“You can steal that like you stole someone’s paper,” Emma says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How much did you overhear?”

“Like Henry, exactly as much as I wanted to,” Regina answers, still pretending to read the Classified section. “I enjoyed the True Love part. Your laugh was downright hysterical.”

“Shouldn’t this be weirder?” Emma blurts out. “I mean, you show up in the middle of the night, we fuck like it’s being made illegal at dawn, and here you are bitching about my mom over the morning paper? What do we call that?”

“Progress?” Regina suggests. “I haven’t made my peace with what she did, yet. But at least she did it herself for once. I keep thinking she could have tricked me, or Henry, into putting the heart back. For that, I think I really would have snapped her neck.”

“Annnnnnd the morning after talk officially got weird,” Emma says, springing back onto her feet. “I’m going to have a shower. Did you want to go to Granny’s for breakfast? I’ll pay and everything.”

“And they said chivalry was dead,” Regina mocks. “No, I have things to do at home. Will you arrange for Henry to see Neal?”

“I think I’m gonna have to,” Emma admits. “Is this the ‘over my dead body’ routine? Only I kinda have to pee, so gimme the short version.”

“No,” Regina sighs, finally putting the paper down. If she were wearing reading glasses, she’d be peering over them; even though the sheet is barely covering her breasts it’s kind of intimidating. “But if Neal won’t come here, you’ll have to meet him halfway. Pick a town with some kind of wholesome entertainment - some sport or whatever - and suggest it for the weekend. Then he doesn’t have the super long drive as an excuse.”

“Seriously?” Emma asks, hands automatically on her hips. “What the hell did I shake loose last night? No way you let me just waltz out of Storybrooke with the kid. Do you want to come?”

“Not in the slightest,” Regina says with a faint shudder. “I remember, before this last bout of unpleasantness, that you said you’d put your faith in me. It occurs to me that maybe I should do the same with you. One day, one weekend... whatever it takes. But I want to keep my son happy and safe.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact we slept together?” Emma asks, panicking that there’s one hell of a loophole she doesn’t see coming.

“No,” Regina assures her. “Although, now it’s out of our systems... that tension... it might be smarter not to do it again. I’m sure you had no designs on anything longer than one night anyway. I’ve seen your track record.”

“Right,” Emma lies, even as her throat tightens around the word. “Well, that saves me letting you down gently, I guess. And it’s less messy, for the Henry stuff.”

“He has to be the priority,” Regina stresses, pulling the sheet tighter around her like she just learned the definition of modesty. “We’ve both been... emotional. These things happen.” Yeah, Emma thinks. They certainly do happen. And she doesn’t need to be a goddamned bricklayer to recognize the wall that Regina has constructed in the space of an hour. She’s hiding behind it already, and Emma doesn’t have the first idea how to get her back out, or if Emma even wants to in the first place.

“One thing?” Emma asks, trying to think ahead. “If this is staying between us, it has to mean that. No using it to fuck with anyone’s head. And by anyone, I mean my parents.”

“Scared of their disapproval?” Regina teases, but one raised eyebrow from Emma seems to remind Regina she doesn’t have much room to mock in that general area. “Fine. You have a deal. If I don’t have to see them, I’d like to go back to having Henry regularly. Two nights a week. Consecutive.”

“Fine,” Emma snaps. “Start tomorrow, then I’ll hopefully take him to see Neal after your first two days. But I mean it, Regina. Any more sneaky vengeance or throwing people kind of rages, and the deal is over. Understood?”

“Go take your shower, Sheriff,” Regina replies. “The town is waiting for you to impose some law and order.”

With that, Regina and all her possessions disappear in a cloud of smoke. Emma can’t help hoping she lands in Wisconsin after all.

***

Neal relents with a half-hearted text message of _fine_ on Thursday when Emma suggests a day out in Manchester. It’s the closest she can get to halfway with something to actually do, and Henry better be the little dork she hopes he is, or it’s going to be kind of a bust when he turns down the Science Center.

She decides not to tell him the whole plan, since all Henry cares about is seeing Neal anyway. Regina waves him off from the porch just after seven when a caffeinated Emma rolls up to collect him in the Bug. Despite a vague hope that Regina will now be more pleasant to be around, Emma’s back to only seeing her at opposite ends of the garden path, and maybe that’s for the best.

“Ready, kid?” Emma asks, pausing around the corner so Henry can clamber into the passenger seat like he’s not supposed to.

“Yeah,” Henry says, looking about as happy as he has in weeks. “Mom made us road trip snacks,” he says, pulling a huge Tupperware container from his backpack. “She even said I should share them with you, so it’s not like I’m just covering for her.”

Emma smiles as they ease through the small amount of morning traffic, mostly the gym bunnies and Saturday workers making their way across town. She waves at a couple of familiar faces when they wave at her, but before long they’re approaching the town line and she can feel the deep sigh of relief building.

She mostly covers it by turning on the radio as they drive over the orange spray paint, and Henry looks a little happier, too.

“Okay, let’s check out those snacks,” she says, feeling like things might just be okay after all. “And I hope you still like Lego, kid.”

***

They get there a little after ten, and Emma pulls the Bug into a parking space without any incident. She scans the other cars for Tamara’s SUV, finding it two rows over. Neal didn’t say if he’d be coming alone, but living in Manhattan he probably doesn’t need his own car. Still, better he bring the ladyfriend than steal a car, probably.

Before they get out of the car, Emma knows she has to test.

“Okay, you remember when we were at the airport?” Emma asks. “And your--Mr Gold, he couldn’t do magic? We just need to double check that’s the same for you.”

“Really?” Henry says, and he almost rolls his eyes at her. “I’ve been checking ever since we crossed the town line. I can’t do anything. Couldn’t even change the radio station.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of country,” Emma defends herself.

“There is before breakfast,” Henry argues. “So you know, I’m just a normal kid again. Now can I please go see my dad?”

“Sure,” Emma says, willing the niggling doubt in the back of her mind to just pipe the hell down. This is a simple trip to see the weekend dad. Millions of people all over the world are doing this right now just because it’s Saturday. She feels the strongest urge to call Regina, but tamps it down. “Let’s go see what this Science Center is all about, huh?”

***

She should have known, Emma tells herself as she watches Henry’s cheeks flush and his eyes fill with tears. He holds them back, though, which is probably more than Emma would have managed in his position, or at his age.

“Hey, Henry,” Tamara says, walking over from where she’s been waiting at the main entrance. “Listen, your dad--”

“He didn’t just go to the bathroom or something, did he?” Emma interrupts. “Tamara, did he bail?”

“He isn’t feeling well,” Tamara lies, and it’s as smooth as silk, the way it trips off her tongue. Probably spent the whole drive up rehearsing. “He gets migraines, and being in the car just makes him want to throw up.”

“Can we come the rest of the way to New York?” Henry seizes on the obvious solution. “I mean, I could still see him. Maybe bring him some chicken soup? My mom always makes that for me when I’m sick.”

“That’s a lot of driving for just one day,” Tamara says. “And we don’t really have a guestroom or anything. You saw the apartment.”

“We saw Neal’s apartment,” Henry spits. “Where you don’t even live. So yeah, I guess between two places there’s really no room, huh?”

“Henry,” Emma warns, because whatever this is, it isn’t Tamara’s fault. “It’s okay, we’ve got lots of weekends.” She watches Tamara for a moment, determining that this is definitely a fake out and Neal doesn’t want to see his kid. If it were genuine, Emma would drive the rest of the way and pay for a hotel, but the squirming is so obvious that anyone could pick up on it. “Why don’t we go check this place out, kid? We can still make a day of it.”

“I could stay, if you don’t mind,” Tamara offers. “I mean, if I’m gonna marry your dad, I should get to know you too, Henry.”

“Whatever,” Henry sighs, schlumping towards the front doors. “I’m not staying long.”

“Whatever you want,” Emma says, and today is probably going to involve a lot of apologetic ice cream and sulky conversation, that much she’s already resigned to. “You don’t have to stay just to make up for Neal,” Emma tells Tamara. “But that was nice of you to come all this way instead of letting Henry down with a phone call.”

“I’m pretty pissed at Neal,” Tamara confides. “I love the guy, don’t get me wrong. But the way he’s acting you’d think he’d had to go around killing babies for the Joker or something.”

“That’s... one way of putting it,” Emma replies, warming up to her newest companion. They approach the window and Emma pays for all three tickets. “Is he, you know, working and eating and sleeping like normal?”

“Not really,” Tamara confides. “A lot of late nights, if he does eat it’s only processed crap that’s meant for kids. And he’s going through the motions with work, but he doesn’t love that anyway.”

“Things are okay with you two?” Emma decides to poke at the blister and see if it pops; she’s done exactly this plenty of times trying to get information out of wives and girlfriends turned accomplices. Breaking Henry’s heart may not be a crime, but Emma still wants to beat the crap out of Neal for it.

“Sort of,” Tamara smiles as Henry comes jogging back over to them. “You know how he is when he sulks.”

“Emma,” Henry says. “Can we go straight to the Lego Mill? It’s a full replica.”

“Sure,” Emma says, with her best fake smile. Her only experience with Lego is stepping on the evil little bricks, and those sons of bitches hurt worse than actually breaking a bone. Thank God Henry keeps his stash at Regina’s place.

“How’s it going with Henry’s little problem?” Tamara asks as Henry takes off in the direction he came from. She looks relaxed enough in her knee-length skirt and a pair of black leather boots that Emma would steal from her in a minute. The creamy turtleneck and suede jacket are a lot nicer than anything in Emma’s closet, but she thinks she could get used to it, judging by how soft they look. With her hair back in a bun, Tamara looks way more the part of the suburban mom than Emma does, dressed in her usual jeans and leather jacket, her sweater simply the cleanest one in the laundry basket, and borrowed from Mary Margaret at that.

“We’re getting there,” Emma says, rounding up to where she hopes they’re heading. “We talked, briefly, about whether getting out of Storybrooke was the best solution. Maybe if it comes up again we’ll pick your brain about that.”

“How so?” Tamara asks, pretending to look interested in the first displays.

“Well, places where you’ve heard absolutely no reports of magic, for example,” Emma says, dropping her voice on the word she feels uneasy throwing around in the real world. “I guess it isn’t foolproof, but if we had a sensible place to make a base. Would make visiting an easier prospect for Neal, too. If he knew there was no risk of... well.”

“I could give you some suggestions,” Tamara agrees. “Best bet is away from major metropolitan areas. You know how every teen runaway heads for the big city? Well, seems users of, y’know, end up there as well, when they travel.”

“How do you get your head around all this?” Emma asks, as they enter the Lego exhibit. Henry is already engrossed in some display and the description panels around it, so she decides to let him be distracted for a while. “I mean, when Henry showed up a year ago... Christ. I thought the kid was going straight into the loony bin.”

“Nobody gave you any idea?” Tamara seems intrigued. “If I’d wanted to make sure the Savior showed up at the right time, I think I would have let her in on the plan. What if you’d moved to Australia? Or not had the baby? I mean, there are just too many loose threads, and I know Neal hasn’t even told me half of it.”

They’re talking in low voices, and nobody is paying them any attention. Emma forgot how much she enjoys the anonymity of random towns and new places, without the familiar faces and overfamiliar eavesdroppers. Maybe she’s been stuck in Storybrooke too long.

“I try not to think about that part too much,” Emma confesses, because it’s the first time she’s talking about it with someone who wasn’t directly involved in the choices made for her. “Because that leads to ‘my parents gave me up’, which leads to ‘why didn’t they find another way?’ and nobody comes out of that well.”

“I guess they don’t,” Tamara says, and the sympathy is genuine. “I know what it’s like to grow up without parents though. Nobody should go through that when they don’t have to.”

“How come you know about all this?” Emma asks, as they walk slowly past the plastic replica buildings and dodge the increasing number of kids starting to mill around. “I mean, you’re not some other kid that tumbled through a portal, right?”

“My grandmother taught me all about it,” Tamara says, and there’s an edge to her voice that says she’ll be telling no more than she has to. “With my parents gone, she raised me. At first I believed because I was a kid, and then as I got older I saw proof.”

“Anyone listening in is gonna think we’re in some kind of cult,” Emma groans, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “You wanna grab some coffee? Henry seems quite happy.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tamara agrees, and Emma finds herself disproportionately happy to be making a friend who won’t secretly turn out to be the Big Bad Wolf, or a close relative.

***

The chat with Tamara helps a lot, but when they rejoin Henry his curiosity has been tempered and the bad mood is back in evidence.

“Can we go?” He demands, barely even looking at Tamara. “I want to go see my mom, if my dad doesn’t care about seeing me.”

“Next time, Henry,” Tamara assures him. “If I have to drag his migrainey ass here myself.”

Emma smirks, not least because someone saying ‘ass’ in front of Henry would bug the everloving shit out of Regina. Maybe if Neal doesn’t marry Tamara because he’s wallowing in his daddy issues, Emma should make a move. She laughs inwardly at the thought, because the family tree isn’t already complicated enough, right?

“Sorry,” Henry says to her, and he actually turns to give Tamara a hug. “I’m glad you came today. Are you and Emma friends now?”

“I hope we are,” Tamara answers, mussing Henry’s hair with her left hand. “You’ve got a cool mom, you know that?”

“She’s okay,” Henry sasses, sticking his tongue out at Emma.

“Hey kid, be nicer. Or I’ll give your candy stash to my new pal Tamara,” Emma warns. “That’s right, I know about the hole under my floorboard. You’re busted, kiddo.”

Henry frowns at her, and Emma steers him out towards the parking lot with a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you ask my dad to call me?” Henry asks as they approach the parked cars. “That would be enough, until he feels better. Or we can FaceTime or something. I don’t mind.”

Tamara nods and gives Emma a look that simply says ‘I’ll try’. It’s more support than Emma is used to, and for a moment she wants to march right back to the little café and spill her guts about Regina and the one-night stand and how the hell do you deal with people trying to parent you, but the age-old impulse of clamming up kicks in right on cue. Instead she shoves her hands in her pockets in the guise of fishing out her keys. They’ve wasted a good hour and a half here, anyway, so at least it wasn’t a total bust.

“Safe drive back,” Emma offers, squinting in the weak sunlight.

“Same to you,” Tamara replies, and they go their separate ways in the middle of the parking lot.

***

Henry’s apology to Tamara seemed genuine enough, but Emma can tell after twenty minutes back on the road that his anger is building again.

“Am I doing something wrong?” She asks, the radio down low enough for her to talk over it. “I really am sorry about Neal. He’s not great at showing up when people need him. But he’ll get better, for your sake.”

“I’m so mad at him,” Henry says through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen, in my dreams, why he wanted to run away. But I’m not Rumplestiltskin. Why is he so scared of me?”

“It’s my fault, Henry,” Emma says, taking blame she wouldn’t usually. “If I’d found a way to tell him I was pregnant... All those years hunting people down and I didn’t look for him once, not seriously anyway. I was too obsessed with finding my parents.”

“I know how that goes,” Henry sighs, and he sounds way too old for his years. “I just want everyone to be nice to me. Or to be like it was before. This totally sucks.”

“I know,” Emma agrees. “But I bet your mom will make anything you want for dinner tonight. And we can totally sneak out for ice cream after.”

“Sugar isn’t some magic cure, Emma,” Henry groans. “And this music is just the worst.”

She reaches to turn the dial, but Henry beats her to it.

“Nothing that makes the car vibrate,” Emma warns, just as she notices the channel has changed but his hands haven’t moved. “Henry, how are you doing that?”

“How do you think?” He asks, and when he giggles it’s familiar enough to make her want to puke.

“You said you tested all the way down,” Emma reminds him. “Henry, what the hell?” It’s taking all her concentration to keep the car moving safely in a straight line, trying to watch him at the same time.

“Oops, I guess I lied,” Henry said. “You didn’t notice the things I was doing, so I told you what you wanted to hear.”

“I was driving!” Emma snaps. “And you hid it from me deliberately. Wait, Gold couldn’t do magic outside of Storybrooke, so what gives?”

“I’m not sure,” Henry replies, sounding more like his usual self. “I think, though, that it might be because everyone else got back magic they already had... it was just sleeping inside them. I actually got mine in this world, so it’s bonded to it.”

“How do you know all that?” Emma shrieks, looking for the nearest place to pull over. She can’t listen to this much longer without something going wrong.

“I’m the Dark One, duh,” Henry says, and when she glances at him she sees that sickly gold sheen to his skin.

She loses control of the car then, her hands no longer obeying her instructions. It’s a quiet stretch of interstate, she thinks, as they careen towards the side of it. The Bug crunches through the flimsy barrier and rolls across the grassy shoulder. Belatedly, she presses down harder on the brakes.

And prays to a God she’s never believed in that somehow, that will be enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Emma and Henry's crash, and new complications in Storybrooke.

There’s something unnatural about the way she’s pulled from the darkness. Emma wants to wake up, of course she does...

\--because what if Henry is hurt?

\--and oh sweet Jesus, they crashed.

\--didn’t they? And--

“Emma,” he says, her cute little kid with his slightly crooked smile and his eyes that look just like hers, after being so sure that he’d grow up to look like Neal. She sees her parents in him more, honestly, but that chin and those eyes are enough to focus on as she tries to force herself fully awake.

“Henry,” she croaks, and he starts crying with relief. She’s aware then of his hands on either side of her face, of the fading pink mist between them.

“You’re back, you’re back,” he sobs. “I thought, oh God, Mom. I thought you were--”

“Nope,” Emma assures him, although breathing isn’t exactly a pleasant experience and she isn’t sure she can feel her legs, but mostly because everything north of her hips is singing out in a horrible, bruising kind of agony. “Kid, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Henry rushes to assure her. “I have a cut on my hand, but I healed it. And I’ve been healing you, at least I think I have. Does it hurt?”

“How bad?” Emma asks, but then she realizes they’re not in the car at all. “Fuck.”

“You cursed,” Henry says, and it’s so deliciously childish that Emma laughs. But oh no, the mist means Henry’s been doing magic, and they’re somewhere public, and she has to make this okay before the nausea hits again, or the black at the edges of her vision creeps back in.

“Sorry,” Emma wheezes. “Don’t rat me out to your mom, okay? We have to call her, she’s the only one who can come get us. No, wait Henry, you have to stop--”

“I’m not doing magic where anyone can see,” Henry whispers. “The curtain is pulled, and it’s just you and me right now, okay?”

“I’m not sure I can move,” Emma says through gritted teeth. “Did the doctors tell you anything?”

“You cracked your ribs, and there’s something with your leg. And you have a concussion, I think. They tried to explain it, but I just wanted them to go so I could help you,” Henry informs her. “If I go tell them you’re awake, they’ll give you some painkillers I think?”

“Could you?” Emma pleads. “How long was I out?”

“We crashed just over an hour ago,” Henry says. “But you were talking in the ambulance. You don’t remember?”

“Nope,” Emma confirms. “Oh God, your mom is gonna be so pissed. Did you call her already?”

“I will,” Henry says. “Once I go get the doctor. You look really pale.”

Emma doesn’t have the energy to fight him on it, closing her eyes and letting the world fade again for a moment.

The doctor is a little harried when he arrives, a guy about Emma’s age of Indian descent. His hair is gelled and his scrubs are still pretty free of creases, so maybe she’s lucky enough to be catching him at the start of a shift instead of the end. She remembers all too well from reluctant Emergency Room visits how much of a difference that can make.

“I’m Dr. Prasanna,” he says, pulling a penlight from his pocket. “We already drew some blood, and the cops are hanging around because they couldn’t breathalyze you at the scene.”

“I wasn’t drinking,” Emma says, trying to sit up properly and meeting an incoming wave of dizzy. “Is my son okay?”

“Henry is fine,” Dr. Prasanna assures her. “Barely a scratch, and his responses are excellent. You picked a good time to come in, this is the quietest our ER has been in weeks.”

“Well, I try. What’s my damage?” Emma asks, gritting her teeth as the doctor performs his examination. Pressing on the left side of her abdomen confirms Henry’s news about her ribs anyway.

“Concussion, three cracked ribs, and I think that’s going to be quite a black eye,” the doctor says, not unkindly, as he shines the penlight in her right eye before moving on to the left. “If you try to move your left leg, you’ll feel a badly sprained ankle, but it looks like the ligament will be fine. I think you were lucky, coming off the interstate at that speed.” 

“Yeah,” Emma grunts. “Although I’m guessing this means my car took the worst of it?”

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Prasanna tells her. “But I did hear the cops talking about the junkyard, so it doesn’t look good. I’m sure your family will get you home in one piece.”

“Unless Henry has taken Drivers’ Ed in the last thirty minutes...” Emma says, pleased that she feels up to cracking even such a lukewarm joke.

“Well, it looks like your partner is just outside with Henry,” he replies, checking the IV bags and marking something on Emma’s chart. “His other mom?” He continues, off Emma’s confused look. “Wait, are you experiencing some kind of memory loss?”

“You mean Regina’s here?” Emma sputters.

“She has dark hair and she’s hugging your son, so... I guess?” The doctor is already checking his watch, ready for the next patient and the next bed and ticking off one more thing off his mental list.

“Emma!” Henry says, pushing past the curtain fully open with that cheeky grin firmly back in place. “Mom’s here!”

“I can see that,” Emma says, watching Regina intently as she approaches Emma’s hospital bed. “I wasn’t expecting her quite so soon.”

“Henry called me while you were out cold,” Regina lies, her eyes a little wild as she no doubt processes the facts of the only way she can be here now: that Henry brought her with out-of-Storybrooke magic. “I jumped in the car and it’s possible I broke a speed limit or two.”

Emma realizes that they need to get rid of the doctor very quickly--especially if he has any concept of geography and Emma’s real address is on the forms. She’s incredibly grateful though, to see that beyond the now-open curtain there’s only another empty bed. The last thing they need right now is an eavesdropper.

“I’ll leave you all to catch up,” Dr. Prasanna mutters, before looking at Regina. “She’s been very lucky, considering. We can keep her in overnight if you really want, but I’m confident we can send her home with some good support bandaging and a prescription.”

“Sign me up for that,” Emma bites at the offer like a starving dog.

“Good,” he says. “The painkillers will start working soon enough, you might find yourself a little drowsy. “ He replaces the chart at the bottom of Emma’s bed and leaving the three of them to a decidedly uncomfortable silence.

“I trusted you,” Regina says after an interminable wait. “I made this huge concession, to let you take Henry away from me, and you almost get him killed?” Her voice is practically a growl as she finishes the thought. Emma flinches at the rage radiating off Regina.

“It was an accident,” Emma replies, looking to Henry for support. To her surprise he looks panicked, guilty even. The look he’s shooting Emma is ‘don’t rat me out’ but the magical cat is very much out of the damn bag.

And that’s when she puts it together. The hazy memory of the wheel not responding to her hands, the radio channels flipping once and twice a second: static-noise-static-noise, grip, grip, brake, brake... all of that wasn’t down to shitty reflexes or Emma not being a safe and steady driver.

Henry did it. And he doesn’t want Regina to know that he’s to blame.

“It was an accident,” Emma says again, meeting her son’s eyes. “Henry, since you’re completely okay, why don’t you go get me a soda from the vending machine? I’ll explain everything to your mom.”

“I’m not letting him out of my sight,” Regina huffs, but Henry is already moving away from her. “Not when he brought me here by... by...”

“Yes,” Emma says, nodding at Henry and silently telling him to flee. “So,” she says, before Regina can launch into a rant. “We have a new problem, huh?”

Regina slumps into the plastic visitor chair, and it’s the first time Emma can remember seeing her sit anywhere without looking every inch a queen. Regina’s shoulders are slumped and the hand that covers her eyes in despair, or maybe frustration, is definitely trembling a little. She’s hardly dressed for the occasion either, in gray yoga pants and a white t-shirt, one of her countless smart black trenchcoats thrown on over it. She almost gets away with it, but she’s wearing running shoes to set the whole ensemble off, and the fact of Regina having to be out in the world and dealing with people not wearing her usual armor of Gucci and Prada is making Emma want to smile. A lot.

“Okay, before he comes back,” Emma says, and she doesn’t like how desperate she sounds. “I don’t know that it was an accident. I mean, it’s not entirely clear.”

“You’re not going to blame a child for your mistakes,” Regina levels the accusation, the prospect of a fight calming her frazzled nerves in an instant. “I took you for many things, but not a coward.”

“He can do magic here,” Emma hisses. “And not in isolated pockets, either. He says it’s elemental or something, that his magic belongs to this world.”

“I didn’t have time to question him,” Regina concedes, looking at her casual clothes. “He just appeared in the kitchen and told me we had to get back to you. He whisked me here and we arrived in a janitors’ closet.”

“We have to be careful,” Emma insists, scanning the windows for any sign of Henry returning. She’s hoping he’s smart enough not to risk doing a listening spell where anyone might notice him, or that it won’t work with so many people and rooms packed into one space. “He clearly doesn’t want me to tell tales. Which is worrying enough, but I’m telling you right now, no secrets between us, okay?”

“I have no secrets anymore,” Regina assures her. “Why were you on the road so soon anyway?”

“Why do you think?” Emma replies with a grimace. “Neal blew it off. So Henry got some time to look around the Center. He liked the Legos, at least.”

“Of course,” Regina grumbles. “When it comes to biology, Henry has the bad luck to only ever be abandoned.”

“Hey!” Emma protests. “You know that’s not what I did.”

“Maybe,” Regina says. “But... I read all the books. I spoke to Archie, or his curse memories at least and I did everything I could to make Henry feel wanted and loved. I never wanted him to be let down like this. Even before I knew who his biological mother would turn out to be.”

“We need to... ah hell, he’s coming,” Emma says. “We need to work out how we’re going to get back to Storybrooke. And tonight, we need to step up the plan thing, okay?”

“Okay,” Regina agrees. “Henry, didn’t you get a soda for yourself?” She says, turning to Henry as he enters with a Diet Coke for Emma.

“I’m not allowed soda,” Henry says, the very picture of innocence. “I could get some water, if you want some, Mom? Or some coffee?”

“It’s fine, thank you,” Regina says, getting up to gather Henry in another hug. Emma marvels quietly at the performance, no doubt honed with all those years of pretending to be a whole other person. Emma can put on an act to get a mark to meet her for dinner, or flirt her way past building security, but she can’t live a lie as smoothly as Regina can. “I’m just so relieved, sweetheart.”

Okay, Emma concedes. That’s not acting.

“So, where exactly are we?” Emma asks. “Because we need to find out about renting a car, or we’re not getting home anytime soon. Sounds like the Bug is probably a write-off.”

“I can take us home,” Henry says. “Once you get done with the cops, Emma.”

“Just routine,” Emma says, off Regina’s glare. “I will need to replace my car at some point, though. So no magic today, kid.”

“Emma’s right,” Regina confirms, and temporary alliance or not, it’s still damn strange to hear. “We have to be careful, out here in the world. Do you trust me to find you a new car?” Regina asks Emma.

“I... guess so?” Emma says. “Although your Sheriff’s department isn’t the best paid in the state, so maybe stay away from renting a vintage Mercedes, if you can?”

“Henry, you can come with me,” Regina says, grasping his hand and not waiting for any dissent. “We’ll be back to collect you,” she informs Emma, before they both sweep out, leaving her alone in a strange hospital. Well, Emma thinks, settling back against the pathetically flat pillows, it’s not like it’s the first time.

***

“Emma?” says the voice, but she grunts and tries to turn away from it.

“Emma,” the voice says again, and it’s no good, she can feel herself being dragged up to the surface, and the light is getting brighter. “Emma!”

There’s a hand against her face, but instead of the slap she braces for, it’s cool and gentle against her cheek. Despite herself, Emma moves into the touch, sighing in what might be contentment.

“The doctor said the painkillers would make you drowsy,” the voice says, and Emma realizes now that it’s Regina. “But we should get going. Can you pull yourself together?”

Well, that does it. Emma blinks once, twice, and she’s awake. At least she doesn’t hurt, but her mouth tastes like cotton candy gone bad and Regina is leaning over her with concern in her eyes.

“Henry?” She asks, voice rough.

“Just outside, the nurse is showing him how to use the wheelchair properly,” Regina explains. She hasn’t moved her hand, so Emma flinches a little and wriggles away. “How are you feeling?”

“Don’t pretend like you suddenly care,” Emma groans.

“Why not?” Regina says, looking just as uncomfortable as she withdraws her hand completely and stuffs both in the pockets of her coat.

“Because like one of my foster moms used to say: you can watch a thief, but you can’t watch a liar. Ironically, she told me right before throwing me back in the system for stealing fifty bucks from her purse, but hey.”

“Ah, the pity party,” Regina sighs. “Is it really so implausible that I’d ask how you are? If nothing else, I need to know how much help you’ll be with Henry, right?”

“S’pose,” Emma mutters. “Are you busting me out of this joint? Because I’m about three minutes from staging my own jailbreak through the nearest window.”

“We’re on the third floor,” Regina says. “So knock yourself out. I hear the cops cleared you, at least. I’m... sorry for accusing you. ”

“Mom!” Henry calls out, wheeling the chair into the room. Regina tenses again, on realizing he’s talking to Emma. “You wanna race to the elevators? Because the man two doors down says we can’t beat him.”

“You’ve been talking to the neighbors?” Emma asks, trying to keep it light even as dread pools in the pit of her stomach. “I thought even in Storybrooke you’d learn ‘don’t talk to strangers’, kid.” So it’s a cheap shot at Regina’s expense, but Emma’s tired of feeling like the worst thing to happen to motherhood.

“I didn’t blab.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Regina says. “And now that Emma has been cleared by the police, we can get going. I picked up some clothes,” she adds, nodding at a paper bag at the foot of the bed.

“Is there a nurse to help me change?” Emma asks, because the simple act of sitting all the way upright has taken her this whole conversation to achieve. “You know what? Never mind. Henry, you can pass me things from behind the curtain.”

“Henry, wait outside again,” Regina instructs, and he scurries off. She takes clothes from the bag: some kind of white sweater and black pants that look way more pantsuit than anything Emma has ever owned. “Try by magic first,” Regina says quietly.

“What? Are you high?” Emma sputters.

“Given you’re the only one here currently on opiates...”

“We can’t do it outside of Storybrooke. Wait, did you--”

“Try. It. Just like in your bedroom, with the pajamas.”

Emma huffs, and manages to swing her legs off the side of the bed. She avoids Regina’s gaze, too intense for Emma’s fragile state, and closes her eyes. She can feel the muscles strain as they try to make her magic work, she can almost feel the magic itself moving in her veins, but nothing happens.

“Try harder,” Regina whispers. “We have to be sure.”

Emma does, and just as she feels a sluggish kind of surge, she’s hit in the face by a white blouse. As near misses go, it’s an embarrassing one.

“Damn!” Regina spits, pulling the blouse from Emma’s shoulder and moving on to untie Emma’s gown. “Oh, stop being a baby,” Regina snaps as Emma starts to squirm. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen.”

“What does this mean?” Emma demands, relieved that she at least has her bra on.

“I’m not sure,” Regina confesses. “But I couldn’t manage even that. We’ll have to consult Gold’s books, and his notes if they’re still around. The man has centuries of knowledge and he sure as hell didn’t share it all with me.”

“If we’re planning on staying in Storybrooke,” Emma says, watching the panic flare in Regina’s eyes. “Which I want to do! Then we might have to think about magic-proofing the apartment and your place. Maybe then grounding will have some kind of impact.”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Regina says, surprisingly tender in the way she lifts Emma’s arms, minding her injured ribs as well as she can. The sweater is in place and Regina gets right on with pulling on the pants. Emma is basically hugging her by the time those are all the way on, and it’s not as weird as it should be. She leans in, smelling Regina’s expensive shampoo and the faint traces of perfume. “No,” Regina reminds her, and Emma pulls away as fast as she can.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Emma announces. “Henry! Get that chair in here.”

***

“That’s a rental?” Emma gasps, leveraging herself out of the wheelchair, and hoping no one notices when she almost faceplants on the sidewalk. “In yellow? Seriously.”

“I thought it made more sense to buy,” Regina says, standing off to the side as Henry rolls Emma’s chair back towards the entrance. “If you don’t like it, we’ll think of something. But there are no cars to purchase in Storybrooke.” She moves in with the crutches, just in time before Emma’s balance gives out on her.

“So you bought a sporty little Chevy?” Emma presses. “Shit, Regina. Can I even afford it?”

“I put it on my card,” Regina says, like she just picked up a box of tampons. “And some provisions I made for the curse... let’s just call it a gift, okay?”

“You can’t do that.”

“I just did. It’s in your name.”

“Regina--”

“Did anyone buy you a car when you got your license?”

“No, of course not,” Emma snaps. “I didn’t even buy the car I wrecked. You know the kind of life I had.”

“Because of me,” Regina supplies. “So consider this a gesture. Or repaying a debt. But I am driving us home in it right now, so adjust quicker, could you?”

“Do you like your new car? I said get the Porsche, but Mom said you’d be fine with a Cobalt.” Henry asks. “Can I call shotgun?”

“No,” Regina replies. “Emma will need the extra room to stretch out her leg. You’re behind me in the back, Henry.”

Emma’s still struggling for words and so she lets Regina and Henry manhandle her into the passenger seat. Henry scrambles into the back a moment later, clutching his backpack which is now full of bottled water, fruit and a brand new comic book. Whatever else she can do, Regina sure as hell knows how to shop.

It’s not until they’re pulling out onto the New Hampshire Turnpike and leaving Portsmouth altogether that Emma even thinks to ask one of the more pressing questions.

“Uh, Regina?”

“Yes?” Regina says, eyes straight ahead as she navigates the on-ramp, flickering away only to check her mirrors religiously.

“Have you ever driven on an interstate before? Or really anything other than the quiet-ass roads in Storybrooke? Because this isn’t exactly--”

“I’m a perfectly competent driver,” Regina snaps. “Although if you’re so worried, you might want to stop distracting me with inane questions. I wouldn’t put Henry at risk, you know that.”

Sure enough, they’re merging with the fast-moving traffic and there’s really no need to panic that Emma can see. She breathes out, grateful that the painkillers are still working their magic and there’s no pain beyond a tightness in her abdomen from where her ribs are strapped up.

“You okay, kid?” Emma asks. “Sorry for making your day even crappier by ending up in the hospital.”

Their eyes meet in the mirror for a second, and Henry nods in acknowledgment of her continuing the cover story that he doesn’t know she’s already broken.

“It’s cool,” he answers, flicking through his comic. “It was kind of exciting, once I knew you were gonna be okay. The car is pretty cool, huh? It doesn’t rattle like the Bug.”

Regina smirks, and Emma summons the patience not to smack her on the arm for it.

“Sorting out all that insurance crap is gonna be fun,” Emma groans. “I can’t believe you guys found me another bright yellow car. What are the odds?”

Henry looks at Regina in the mirror this time, and Emma catches it. Putting two and two together she comes up with ‘magic paint job’ and while it’s tempting to call Regina out on hypocrisy and the risks of Henry doing that, Emma chooses to see the nice intent behind it instead.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, before a yawn takes over. “I’m just gonna close my eyes for a minute, okay?”

She blinks once, twice, and the world fades out again.

***

“Be quiet,” Regina whispers as Henry pushes his way out past the tilted front seat. “Let her rest a little while longer.”

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Henry whispers back. “I know you’re still pissed--”

“Henry!”

“I know you’re still mad,” Henry amends. “But I’d like it if my whole family could try to get along. I already lost two grandparents.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina says, because for all her stupid and sometimes violent pride, she’s never had any trouble being humble for her son. “Just... not yet, Henry. Don’t ask that of me right now, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Are you gonna take Emma back to the apartment?”

“Yes,” Regina says, clicking the driver’s seat back into position. “Make sure they give you something good for dinner, do you hear? You’ve already had a candy bar.”

“Yes, mom,” Henry groans.

The engine hums back to life, and Emma almost smiles at how much quieter it is. She wouldn’t have been able to fake sleep with the noise the Bug made starting up. She tries not to think about Portland and Neal and dammit, the back seat that Henry was probably conceived on, but the memories flood her anyway. She stews in them until the car rolls to a stop again a few minutes later.

“Miss Swan,” Regina tries, which Emma ignores on principle. “Emma,” Regina says next, just a little louder. Emma rolls her head and slowly opens her eyes.

“Hey,” she says, careful about stretching even slightly. “We’re home?”

“You are,” Regina confirms, before getting out of the car and walking around to help Emma out of the car and making sure she has her crutches. “And for the record, you’re a terrible actress. If you’re going to pretend to be asleep, don’t forget the snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” Emma scoffs, making her way towards the front of the apartment building, clumsy on her crutches. “I can’t believe you bought me a car. I am going to pay you back for it, though.”

“No,” Regina sighs, opening the building’s front door. “I already explained why you’re not.”

“And this has nothing to do with...” Emma trails off once they’re in the hallway, because her words make Regina stop and suddenly they’re very close. “I mean, you’re helping me out, you buy me a car...”

“I don’t say ‘thanks’ for sex with a car, if that’s what your drugged brain is implying,” Regina corrects her. “I can’t deny it’s nice to have... an ally at such a difficult time, I suppose. I’m used to dealing with every problem on my own. I always have.”

“I know what that’s like,” Emma admits. “Okay, let’s get up these few stairs and then we need to talk about Henry. The pills are wearing off and the freaking out is probably close to starting.”

“Okay,” Regina agrees.

***

With full magic powers restored, Emma clicks her fingers and is in far more comfortable sweats by the time she sits down on the couch. Regina is busy in the kitchen for a moment before serving up plates of sliced fruit and two beers. Regina pours hers into a glass, an option Emma ignores before taking a pull straight from the bottle, but it’s still amusing enough to see Regina sipping at something other than wine.

“I probably shouldn’t be drinking this,” Emma admits. “But damn, it’s exactly what I needed,” she adds, swiping a slice of peach from the plate and popping it in her mouth. “I think we should start by saying that I don’t think Henry meant to hurt me. He was pissed at Neal and being smug about being able to use magic.”

“But he crashed your car.”

“He was changing the radio with his... mind, I guess. And then my hands just refused to grip the wheel, so we veered right off, just outside Hampton I think.”

“So you can both do magic outside of Storybrooke,” Regina says, casually pressing a grape into her mouth.

“But you can’t?” Emma confirms. “Listen, before you start going down the road I know you’re gonna go down, that doesn’t mean I’m taking him anywhere. He’s more powerful than me out there, so we’re staying put.”

“For now,” Regina sighs. “Like I said before, if it comes to it, you take him. I want whatever keeps him safe. But I agree we should focus on a solution here, for now. A long-term one. This power isn’t going anywhere, and I think if I’ve learned one thing in my life, then how you’re taught and how you’re raised counts for a lot.”

“If that’s--”

“So I suggest a magic-proof space for Henry,” Regina says. “That way, if we ground him, it will feel like an actual consequence. I don’t know the exact magic, but I think Gold’s house may have the books I require.”

“Your house,” Emma agrees. “Here too, if you like. If you teach me, I can even magic-proof my parents’ new place.”

“From the little I know of it, it’s very draining magic,” Regina explains. “I’ll have to find the right spells, but essentially you drain off some of your own magic and put it in the boundary to keep it... well, like an electrified fence, in a way.”

“I’m going to assume it won’t hurt Henry?”

“Of course not,” Regina replies. “It will just be like a magnet that suddenly loses its pull, whenever he walks in.”

“If you say so,” Emma says with a shrug. “Your curse memories probably taught you more high school science than I ever stuck around to learn.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hey, I thought you were being nice, Florence Henderson.”

“...do you mean Florence Nightingale?”

“Yeah,” Emma concedes. “Her. Hey, I’m on pain meds, gimme a break.”

“You should go to bed,” Regina says, not moving other than to pick at more fruit. “Sleep off the worst of it.”

“Gonna keep me company?” Emma risks it, because she can always blame it on being legally high. “I mean, it’s a big bed and there’s no Henry here to even talk to.”

“Did you not understand what ‘not doing that again’ meant?” Regina counters. “Or do you need me to break it down into smaller words and do some actions to explain?”

“Don’t see you rushing for the door,” Emma points out. “Plus, cracked ribs and a messed up ankle mean some of my better moves are off the table, anyway. Maybe I just wanted to say thanks for the car,” she teases.

“Emma--”

“I feel kinda crappy,” Emma says, so quietly she isn’t even sure she said it out loud. “And I could call my parents to come check on me, but I’m not sure I can face that tonight. But you’re probably sick of being around me by now--”

“I can stay,” Regina says, just a fraction too quickly. Seems somebody did want to be asked twice, and Emma has to really summon her grown-up powers to not smirk about it. “And if you’re not sleepy I can prepare real food. It’s only 8.”

“I’d like that,” Emma agrees. “No pressure, but I would like it. Call it celebration of your first drive on a real road.”

“I’ve driven that route before,” Regina says, leaning back against the sofa cushions.

“When?” Emma asks.

“How do you think I got Henry?”

“But didn’t Gold...”

“He couldn’t leave town without something bad happening. No one could, except for me,” Regina reminds her. “It was pretty terrifying on the way there, but nothing--nothing--compares to the fear you feel driving your baby home for the first time.”

“I bet you drove at five miles an hour the whole way,” Emma says, and the words are bittersweet as they fall from her mouth. “I imagined that, when they took him away. I thought about all those cheesy movies where the new parents are total dorks, and I wanted that for him.”

“Well, we can’t always get what we want,” Regina says, closing the subject in that way she has. “So, food or sleep?”

Emma stomach rumbles and answers for her.

***

“Thank you for staying.”

“Give me another pillow, or I’m going.”

“You already have the two good ones.”

“I’m demanding. Is this news?”

“We’re gonna figure this Henry thing out, right?”

“Go to sleep, Emma. We’ll go to Gold’s house in the morning.”

***

“Hey,” Emma says, as the curtain in front of the bed is pulled back. “I slept like the dead. Gimme a minute, though and--”

“I think you should stop there,” David says, blushing so red he could be mistaken for a tomato. “Your mom mentioned you’ve been seeing someone.”

“Not... really?” Emma tries, looking frantically around the apartment. “Did you just get here, or...?”

“I got here the same time as Regina did,” David says, and Emma looks really quickly for an innocent expression to put on. She can’t help noticing she’s practically naked under the sheets, injuries or not. “She said she owed you breakfast, so she dropped it off. And to meet her at noon. Didn’t say where, though.”

“I know where,” Emma grunts, leveraging herself off the mattress and wrapping a sheet around herself until she can reach the bathroom, and the robe that’s hanging there. It’s not the most dignified limping across the apartment, but she’s survived worse. “Thanks for looking after Henry last night.”

“He was pretty sulky,” David says as Emma shuffles into the bathroom.

A couple of minutes later he’s waiting with her crutches, and the coffee and pancakes are sitting on the counter for them both. Another nice gesture from Regina, it seems, and Emma’s trying pretty damn hard not to start getting used to it. Just a shame Regina’s not staying to enjoy it, but it’s not so difficult to spend time with her parents individually.

“Neal didn’t show,” Emma sighs. “So that little plan backfired. Regina suggested magic-proofing the houses, so if we ground him or keep him home we’ll have some control. None of this is exactly ideal, though. I just don’t want to treat my own kid like a criminal.”

“That... actually sounds like a good idea. Regina’s, I mean.”

“Yeah. I guess she has plenty of experience of being bad with magic.”

“You could say that,” David agrees, shoving half a pancake in his mouth and chewing slowly. He looks relaxed today in a simple gray t-shirt and black jeans, not like a King at all. “Listen, Emma. Are you doing okay? It seems like a lot to take on.”

“Honestly?” Emma replies. “I don’t know. It helps that you guys help with Henry so much. And Regina taking a couple of days every week for now? That’s good. That’s good for both of them. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“None of us do,” David tells her. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I put you in that wardrobe, either. But it was the only clear choice I was given, so I did it. I know whatever you do, you’ll be able to explain it to Henry. And I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

“Like you want me to forgive you?”

David sips at his coffee. “Obviously, we hope that one day--”

“I forgive you,” Emma mutters. “I mean, maybe not all the way, but I’m not pissed about it anymore.”

“Really?”

“It’s just... it feels like you guys expect that forgiveness to wipe the slate clean. It can’t. I’m still going to be the way I am. I’m still gonna be screwed up about trust, and family, and a bunch of stuff that you probably don’t even understand. Me being this way? That’s the price we all have to pay. For breaking the curse, or whatever.”

“Magic does always come with a price,” David agrees, trying to hide the sadness from his tone. “You should talk to your mother about this sometime. She worries. It would break our hearts to lose you again.”

“I can do that,” Emma promises. “You gonna stay and help me polish off this food?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

***

Midday finds Emma on the front porch of Gold’s house, surveying the signs of neglect already creeping in around the windows and in the plants that line the path. With a few years’ experience of telling actual disappearing from pretending to, Emma can at least be sure that no one is living in the house. Belle is holed up at the B&B, so the place is gathering dust until Neal can face sorting everything out. She fires a text off to say she’s checking the place out, just out of courtesy, and shoves her phone back in her pocket.

“Ready?” Regina says, appearing behind Emma suddenly enough to make her drop her crutches. “If you’re not fit for this, I can do it alone.”

“Well, I can’t exactly bend,” Emma says through gritted teeth as she tries to do exactly that. Regina tuts and picks the crutches up for her. “But this seems like a good time for you to fill me in on more magic crap.”

“Did David say anything?” Regina asks as they make their way up the front steps. Emma’s about to grab her lockpicks from her pocket when Regina opens the door with a wave of her hand. Right. Magic.

“Yeah, he asked me if you’re a screamer, then he gave me a tip about using your thighs for leverage.”

Well. That was totally worth it for the very definition of a death glare. Really no one does that quite like Regina.

“I meant about me bringing breakfast,” Regina continues as they step into the hall. Emma’s only ever been here once before, and she wishes she had her gun pulled like that last time. She hobbles on her crutches instead.

“No, he bought your ‘owing me food’ line. Good improvising. And I said Henry should go home with you when we’re done here.”

“Thank you.”

“No big deal,” Emma says. “Not like I’m in the best shape for kid wrangling right now anyway. You could have offered to magically heal me, for the record. That would have been nice, after sleeping in my bed all night.”

“Oh for... I’m going to use it to teach you healing magic,” Regina snaps. “I’ve never known anyone who can ruin a gesture quite like you.”

“I try.”

“I can tell.”

“So? The books? Bedroom, office, what do you think?” Emma asks, surveying the grand staircase that’s not quite as grand as Regina’s. Seems the only cursed property to rival her own was Jefferson’s. “And you can show me this healing crap before my painkillers wear off.”

“During the curse everything was hidden in plain sight,” Regina muses, as though Emma hadn’t spoken. “But once he remembered he would have built some kind of lair; he always did.”

A flicker of Regina’s fingers and yellow footprints appear all over the lacquered wood floor. That would have been damn handy for bounty hunting, Emma thinks, shifting her weight back onto her good leg fully. After a moment it’s clear that some footprints are brighter and more solid-looking than others, and just as Emma is about to say as much, Regina starts following their path.

Emma sighs and limps along behind her.

“In here,” Regina says, opening what looks like the cupboard under the stairs. Perhaps not surprisingly, what should be a tiny, angled closet turns out to be some kind of huge laboratory, one that definitely shouldn’t fit into this space.

There’s a long workbench littered with test tubes and bottles, some that look ancient and dusty, others that look like regular mason jars but filled with things that glow or sort of... ooze. Emma takes in the shelves that are groaning under the weight of leather bound books and stacks of paper alike. There’s an honest-to-God human skull being used as a paperweight, and not for the first time since finding Storybrooke, Emma wants nothing more than to get in her car and press down on the gas pedal until this is nothing but a really vivid nightmare.

“Don’t be scared,” Regina mutters a moment later, looking at Emma the way someone else might look at a bomb about to go off: half-concerned, half looking for the wire to cut to avoid the whole mess.

“Don’t be scared?” Emma repeats. “You’re not scared that this is how Henry is gonna end up? Making potions and ruining lives? With nobody left who loves him, just people he’s driven away? I mean, Christ, Regina. What’s his body count going to be?”

“It’s still lower than mine,” Regina counters. “Something you seem to be overlooking lately. This is how I learned. This is all I can teach him. I think we both know that nobody is going to blame the Dark One for anything Henry does... they’ll blame the ten years with me.”

“I don’t.”

“Maybe you’re just an idiot.”

“Why don’t you lay off the insults and teach me some healing? That way I can help you search for these spellbooks or whatever,” Emma suggests, exhausted from another sudden spike in tension. Nothing about this is getting any easier, and she really wants something to go their way and remove this feeling that it’s just all one big game of Russian roulette, only with magic, and a bullet in every other chamber.

“Fine,” Regina huffs, nodding towards a high wooden stool by the bench. “Sit.”

“Not a golden retriever, Regina.”

“You can see where I’d make the mistake,” Regina fires back, but there’s a quirk of her lips that says she’s not entirely being a bitch this time. “Lift up your leg.”

Emma complies, but a part of her doesn’t want to. She flexes her fingers in preparation, like she has a clue what she’s doing.

“The doctor said the muscle is damaged,” Regina says. “That’s actually easier. Bones require a potion, which I’ll show you once we have what we came for. Here,” she continues, picking up a piece of paper and sketching some symbols on it with a feathered pen thing that’s resting right by a bottle of squid ink. Emma sighs in recognition. Not everything about this is new to her, at least.

“Inhale,” Regina says, placing the paper right under Emma’s nose. The ink is already dry, the blackness of it shifting in the dull light from the lamps fixed to the wall. “And then breathe out directly over your leg.”

“Aren’t you going to teach me what you wrote?” Emma demands.

“Once you’ve inhaled it, the spell will stay inside you, with occasional use,” Regina sighs. She’s so very close, and Emma has to temper the urge to reach out and touch, especially since Regina is wearing one of those shift dresses she likes so much, and the material always looks incredibly soft.

Emma tries not to think about doing lines in dingy bathrooms, and dips her head to inhale deeply. The black ink flies up her nose but she doesn’t feel it at all. Something in her chest tightens, and there’s a warmth that spreads across her cheeks, but otherwise the only change is that the piece of paper is blank again, and Regina yanks it away again.

“Now breathe out,” she instructs. Emma holds her breath a few more seconds out of spite, then slowly leans as far as her strapped-up ribs will allow and breathes out a puff of pink magic.

“Hmm,” Regina frets for a moment. “That’s not supposed to--”

“Oh!” Emma interrupts, rotating her ankle freely and noticing how the swelling above her battered Converse flats has gone down. “It worked.”

“It’s not supposed to be pink,” Regina says quietly, grabbing Emma’s foot and inspecting her ankle not all that gently. “I’ll do your ribs, if you like.”

“Yeah, I don’t bend that way,” Emma jokes, curious about Regina’s sudden color fixation. Sure enough, the magic Regina breathes out is a sort of pale lilac. “Hey, you’ve got pastels too, so get off my ass, lady.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Regina dismisses with a wave of her hand. “Let’s get on with finding his important spells.”

Emma takes careful steps until she starts trusting her ankle again, rooting through the first of the shelves and realizing she can’t read any of the titles on the spines. She’s about to point that out to Regina when a potential solution occurs: there’s probably a magical equivalent of Rosetta Stone, right?

She closes her eyes and thinks very hard about how satisfying it would be to understand the books herself and not rely on Regina. When Emma opens her eyes she barely dares to look, but sure enough the weird symbols and funky calligraphy starts melting and blending into legible words. If Emma punches the air in victory, Regina doesn’t seem to notice.

“Wards and Protections?” Emma asks, holding up what looks like a Bible. “Or maybe ‘Magick For Propertie’? Huh, they really do write like that.”

“How are you... yes,” Regina says, coming across to pluck the books from Emma’s hands. “You adjust fast.”

“I’m not actually a moron,” Emma says, and she grabs another handy looking book before kneeling on the floor to flick through it. Regina joins her after a few moments, although she does it with a little more grace.

“Hmm,” Regina says, running a perfectly-manicured nail down a particular page. Emma is quietly glad she took advantage of her free time on Friday to tidy up her own nails. “It is going to require a lot of magic. I’m not sure I can cover the entire house without some kind of human sacrifice and...no. Not yet, anyway.”

“Can I suggest something without you biting my head off?”

“Henry stays with you full-time? Because the apartment is smaller?”

“More or less, yeah,” Emma admits. “But I’m not sure being just with me all the time is a great idea. I know it would be crowded, but you could come over more often. Stay, sometimes, maybe.”

“And how would we explain that to our son?”

“I’d sleep on the couch?” Emma offers.

“I’m sure you would.”

“Anyway,” Emma says, eager to change the subject. She can’t believe she even suggested such a dumb thing. “While we’re here, should we be looking for Dark One stuff? Or is it really just the dagger that controls Henry and that’s it?”

“There may be some old books. Story books, really,” Regina guesses. “Anything that helps Henry come to terms with this will hopefully keep him calm. After yesterday I’m concerned that he’s going to draw attention here in town.”

“We can always excuse it as he’s the son of, you know...”

“Someone will put the pieces together. Not to mention Ruby and that damn fairy already know,” Regina reminds her. “We need to focus on discipline, and Henry feeling safe and loved. I don’t know what else to suggest, but we have to really start there.”

“Because otherwise people are going to come after the dagger?” Emma asks. “And if he feels threatened, Henry might run away again. Fuck.”

“Welcome to motherhood,” Regina says sadly. “And magical motherhood at that.”

“It’s really true?” A voice says from the hallway. “All this time I knew the people at the hospital were hiding things from me. But you’re talking about magic? It’s real?”

“Belle!” Emma says, scrambling to her feet. “When did you get out?”

“David Nolan signed me out yesterday,” Belle informs them. “What the hell did he set me loose in? That man, they told me he died... everything he said was true?”

“Belle, dear,” Regina replies, her voice downright oily with fake charm. “I’m sure you just overheard wrong. You were shot, after all. Not everything will be quite back to normal yet.”

“I know what I heard,” Belle says, lifting her chin and putting her hands on her hips. “And you both think there’s something wrong with that kid everyone says you share. People want his... magic?”

Emma is actually expecting Regina to do something, but her own arms lash out first. A moment later, Belle is suspended two feet off the ground, arms pinned to her side.

Not exactly a surprise that the poor girl screams.

“What do we do?” Emma hisses. “You want me to outline the twenty different risks this exposes us to? And Henry?”

“I’m well aware,” Regina says. “Do you suggest we kill her?”

Belle screams again, this time until her throat gives out on her.

“No,” Emma says, having hesitated a little too long. “Not killing. Can we... wipe her?”

“The line already did,” Regina says, stepping around Belle in a broad circle. “I could do it, but I think it would turn her brain to mush.”

“Potions?” Emma suggests.

“Same risk,” Regina says. “We need to add, not subtract.”

“Why doesn’t she think she’s a pharmacist or something?” Emma seizes on the rogue detail. “She’s just blank, but the dwarf guy went back to his curse identity.”

“She never had one. I locked her in the asylum instead.”

“Regina!”

“She did,” Belle shouts. “Sheriff, please. Get me out of here and away from this woman.”

“Wait,” Emma says, shaking her head to clear it. She starts to lower Belle to the ground before thinking better of it and yanking her back into the air. “No. No, you don’t understand all this and if you blab, people could die. Nobody else is dying because of me, or because of my son.”

“I have a suggestion,” Regina says, rifling through the things on the desk.

“What?” Emma demands.

“Trust me,” Regina says, arching an eyebrow in question. “Will you trust me? It won’t hurt her, and it won’t kill her.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay, should I put her down?” Emma pleads, her arms starting to shake at the realization of what she’s doing.

“Yes,” Regina instructs, and the moment Belle’s feet touch the ground, Regina steps in and hands her something. Belle grabs it and a shimmer passes over her.

“Uh... where am I?” Belle asks.

“You wandered in from the street, dear,” Regina answers, slipping an arm around Belle’s shoulders and leading her out into the hall. Emma follows, dumbstruck. “Are you lost?”

“I think so,” Belle says, looking at the walls as though she’s never seen them before. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. My name’s Lacey.”

“Nice to meet you, Lacey. I’m Mayor Mills. The man who owns this house passed away recently, so the Sheriff and I are organizing his effects for... his family.”

“That’s nice,” Belle, or Lacey replies. “Actually, I think I’m running late for my shift at the Rabbit Hole. I’m sorry I got distracted and wandered in.”

“No problem,” Emma pipes up, finding her voice. “You okay getting down to the bar?”

“Oh, sure,” Lacey says, nodding. “I need to get changed first, or I won’t get any tips. But I should make it, if I go now.”

Emma looks at the knee-length skirt and sweater Lacey is wearing, recognizing both as Mary Margaret’s. The girl kind of has a point.

“Good luck,” Regina says, ushering Belle towards the door. “And if your boss gives you trouble, have him call the Sheriff.”

“Thank you!” Belle says, shaking Regina’s hand. “But Ga--Gordon has always been kinda sweet on me. I can wrap him around my finger if I have to.”

With that, Lacey is out of the front door and jogging down the steps. Emma and Regina watch her go.

“Did you--”

“Give her a curse identity after all? Yes, I did. It erases everything that was there before, just like it did at the start of the curse.”

“You sure?” Emma presses, a nagging doubt settling in her gut.

“As I can be,” Regina admits. “Let’s pack up what we need and get out of here for now. I don’t feel like more interruptions.”

“Good plan,” Emma agrees. She clenches her hands into fists for a moment, reminding herself that nobody actually got hurt. “And we protected Henry. That’s the main thing, right?”

“Why, Miss Swan,” Regina sighs. “You really are learning, at last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the two week delay. Fandom and real life have conspired to kick my ass and my creativity. We're back on track now, though. Thanks to writetherest, monetfun and my wife for edits and suggestions. Thanks to everyone for supportive messages and tweets about not quitting this story or the fandom. It means a lot. If you don't, you know, hate me by now, feel free to leave me a review.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief return to Henry's POV. A lot of family dynamic fixing. Oh, and some smut. You know, in case you wanted any of that.

Henry waits at the kitchen table as both of his mothers are ushered in by Gramps. Emma’s crutches are nowhere to be seen, and instead she’s walking normally and carrying a box that’s overflowing with books. Mom has a box of her own, although that one has a firmly closed lid. Henry blinks twice and then he can see past the wood to the contents within. Herbs, a few potions, nothing of particular interest.

 “Everything okay?” He asks, looking at Mom for any signs that Emma might have blabbed. Mom only looks at him with kindness in her eyes. He wonders how he convinced himself before that she didn’t have any kindness in her. Gramps moves over to the fridge and silently brings out a jug of lemonade, placing it on the counter before collecting four glasses.

“Sure is, kid,” Emma says. “Your Mom wanted to teach me some more things, so we picked up my homework. You know how I love reading.”

Henry catches the wink, and smiles. Emma actually does love reading, but for some reason she doesn’t want anyone else to know. She started to explain once, when they were joking around about bedtime stories, and it’s something to do with how she never really got to watch movies much as a kid, but books from the library were always free. Maybe it’s smart that she wants people to underestimate her, Henry isn’t sure.

“Am I staying here again?” Henry asks, because while he likes living with his grandparents, they seem a bit too nervous around him. Oh, they try to pretend like if he just plays enough softball or finishes enough chores, he won’t be tempted to throw a fireball at anyone, but he can see through it.

“You’re coming home with me,” Mom says, narrowing her eyes at Emma and Gramps like she’s daring them to contradict her. “You can go back to Emma on Tuesday after school.”

“Cool,” Henry says, taking a glass of lemonade and sipping at it. “Can we have movie day today? We haven’t done that in ages.”

Mom lights up like a Christmas tree, and Henry feels bad for knowing that she would. He does really want to watch a movie though, let something else be the show for a while. There’s no headache this time, but his whole body has been aching since they left the hospital yesterday. Gram and Gramps haven’t noticed, and he took some aspirin this morning before anyone got up, but maybe if it’s still bad later, Mom will have another potion.

“Don’t watch Monsters University without me,” Emma warns.

“That’s not even out on DVD yet,” Henry sighs. He rolls his eyes at Emma, and Mom smiles even wider. “I’ll go get my bag.”

He can’t quite shake the nagging worry that Emma is pissed at him, and that it’s going to turn into another discussion of how much trouble he is, but for now a day with his Mom sounds perfect. Henry hugs both of his mothers before running upstairs.

***

“So, tomorrow?” Emma asks quietly, once Henry has thumped all the way upstairs.

“As soon as he’s at school,” Regina agrees, before sneering at the glass of lemonade David offers to her.

“You two are spending a lot of time together,” Mary Margaret says, appearing from the garden at just that moment. “You didn’t tell us Regina was going to New Hampshire with you, then you drop Henry off here, and now you’re making plans for tomorrow?”

“You would think,” Regina responds, her spine straightening. “That after all this time you would learn not to meddle in the affairs of other people.”

“Affair is an interesting choice of words,” Mary Margaret shoots back, her hands full of herbs and her gaze locked on Regina.

“Hey!” Emma interrupts. “No fighting around Henry, remember? We’re just trying to set up some stuff to protect him. And Regina had to come get me from New Hampshire, because she’s the only one who can cross the line.”

“I noticed a new yellow car in your space outside the apartment earlier,” David says, catching up to his wife’s line of questioning.

“It’s a used car, actually,” Regina says. “Again, not something that’s even close to your business. Emma’s car was wrecked, she got a new one.”

“And hey, I didn’t even have to steal it this time,” Emma adds, creating an uncomfortable silence.

“Is there something going on between you two?” Mary Margaret asks. “David said he bumped into Regina with breakfast earlier. But there was no sign of her car. I’m asking because Emma, that would be a very stupid, very dangerous thing to do. You can’t ‘hook up’ with the Evil Queen.”

“You think my moms are... dating?” Henry asks from the doorway.

Emma’s never felt her blood actually run cold before, but right now it’s like goddamned ice cubes in her veins. And how in the hell does Henry know what ‘hooking up’ means, anyway? Regina looks just as scandalized at his instant translation.

“Of course not,” Regina says, turning towards him. One of them was going to have to risk the lie, and Emma’s no idiot about what kind of risk that is for Regina right now. It’s a bigger favor than buying a car. “Your grandmother is a gossip, Henry. You can’t listen to every crazy idea she comes up with.”

“Hey!” David calls out. “You can correct someone without being rude, Regina.”

“I’m aware. But it’s a lot more fun this way.”

“Regina,” Emma warns.

“Henry, come along. We have movies to watch. And I’m going to make you any dinner you want.”

Emma turns to her parents in exasperation as Regina leads Henry out of the house. Perhaps Emma should feel guilty for lying, but there really isn’t any kind of legitimate thing between her and Regina, even if it was weirdly pleasant to just sleep next to someone last night, and form an effortless partnership in the face of Belle’s threat just an hour before.

And hey, now that Emma’s healed, there’s no need for just sleeping the next--shit. It really kind of blows when your mother has a point. Sleeping with Regina is undoubtedly stupid, dangerous, and really not a good thing to complicate anyone’s life with right now. Hoping for more, expecting things: Emma knows better than that, for God’s sake. No doubt Regina’s just acting out as she works through her grief and fear of losing Henry; that doesn’t mean Emma has to have a whole lot of sex with her.

“Sorry,” Mary Margaret says. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“If it’s anyone but Regina,” David adds. “We just want you to know that... it would be fine with us. The woman thing. It’s not really common back in the Enchanted Forest, but I’ve watched enough TV to know that people get upset about this stuff.”

“Oh yes,” Mary Margaret says, pulling Emma into a reluctant hug. “We would love you every bit as much, sweetheart. If you are, you know...”

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles. “I don’t really do labels or anything, but... thanks.”

It’s a long, long way from the beating she took from a particularly unpleasant foster father the time he walked in on Emma making out with Suzy... something, back in Jackson. Although, Emma recalls with a shudder, that was really more about not letting him stay to watch. When he took a belt to her after throwing Suzy bodily out of the house, Emma had almost been grateful for a reason to take three showers a day: she could claim to be keeping the broken skin on her back and her legs free from infection. It seemed less depressing than having to do it because of how he looked at her and let seemingly innocent touches linger. All that stopped with the beating.

“Are you staying for lunch?” David asks. “We haven’t eaten yet, so there’s plenty.”

“Sure,” Emma agrees, because going home means wading through the boxes she and Regina brought from Gold’s. “It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“No crutches?” Mary Margaret asks. “David, you said she was in a lot of pain…”

“Regina taught me some healing magic,” Emma confesses, taking a seat at the table and taking a mouthful of lemonade. “It worked pretty well, huh?”

“You know,” Mary Margaret says, taking a seat opposite Emma. “We had no idea you would be magical. I suppose with the threat of Regina’s curse, and everything we had to worry about in this other land we sent you to… it never cropped up.”

“Your fairy didn’t tell you?”

“Nope?”

“And Gold? Didn’t you go to him to find out how to stop Regina?”

“No,” David admits. “Although we were pretty harsh on him as a prisoner. It’s possible he just didn’t feel like giving us a scrap more than we made a deal for. That’s one thing this world has taught us, at least. People don’t really like obeying just because you have the fancy title.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret cautions and it’s so motherly, the way she scolds, that Emma can’t help grinning.

“Since we’re kid-free, how about we go out for a meal tonight? I feel like every time we get a chance to get to know each other as, you know, kid and parents… stuff happens. There’s always a crisis. Or I get sucked into a portal.”

“We'd like that. You want to hang out and watch the game with me?” David asks.

“I have homework,” Emma groans. “But I guess if I do that in the same room as the game…”

“You should check in with Blue at some point,” Mary Margaret insists. “Oh, I’ve accepted you’re going to learn from Regina. But it can’t hurt to make sure she isn’t filling you with dark magic.”

The least appropriate comeback of Emma’s life formulates on her tongue, but she bites it back in time.

“I’m starting to teach myself, sort of? That’s what the books are for.”

“We don’t get a chance to talk much,” Mary Margaret continues. “But Blue, and other people, they’ve mentioned that you must be quite powerful. The whole, uh, true love thing.”

“Well, that one’s on you guys,” Emma teases. “So, does this offer of the game on TV come with a cold beer?” She gets up and heads to the fridge, and the ease of it even in this house she barely knows makes Emma well up with the sudden memory of how she dreamed of things like this.

“You okay?” David asks, standing to approach her where she’s frozen halfway across the kitchen.

“It’s just…” Emma is at a loss for how to describe it. “I think it’s like when I used to dream about finding my parents… I came up with so many crazy stories about why you had to leave me. I told the other foster kids you were spies, that you were in some cult that wouldn’t let you escape but you smuggled me out to protect me… and the fantasy always ended with us sitting in a kitchen like this. Like we’d always known each other.”

It’s really too much, but by the time she bursts into tears, both parents have her scooped into a group hug.

“If I’d known I couldn’t come with you,” Mary Margaret explains. “We would have sent a letter. Or something, anything to let you know we didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Well, they’d have locked me in a psych ward for saying any of this stuff,” Emma says, pulling away gently. “So I guess that makes it easier to forgive you.”

“You forgive us?” Mary Margaret whispers.

“I guess I do. And thank you, you know, for everything with Henry. I really am trying to do what’s best for him.”

“You and Regina made a plan?”

It’s David who asks, already crossing his arms across his chest as they prepare to disapprove. Emma sighs inwardly.

“Yeah, that’s what we were doing this morning. We’re going to magic-proof the apartment, basically. And then do other places. So when Henry is at home, at least, he can’t exert any power over the adults.”

“That’s a big step,” David says. “Did something happen yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Emma admits. “Henry can do magic beyond the town line. And I can, sort of a little bit? But he’s way better. He says it’s some element thing about getting his magic in this world.”

“And Regina can’t?” Trust Mary Margaret to pounce on the relevant detail Emma didn’t exactly mention.

“Nope.”

“Well,” David sighs in relief. “That’s the first good news we’ve had since Cora died. It means you _can_ take Henry from her if she goes back on her promise and tries to turn him as evil as she is.”

“Can we stop that?” Emma pleads. “Like everyone is just one thing or the other? Because you,” she says, turning to her mother. “Did a shady thing, offing Cora like that. And just a little while ago I was ready to kill someone for being a threat to Henry.”

“Who?” Both parents demand.

“Belle,” Emma tells them, shoving her hands in her pockets. “She’s fine, but she was kind of… snooping, I guess. Regina rebooted her into a curse memory, so she’ll still be weird about magic stuff, but she won’t remember what she heard about the Dark One.”

“You’re sure?” David looks as uneasy as Emma still feels. “That sounds a lot like Regina up to her old tricks.”

“No, it was the right thing. Belle’s convinced she works at the Rabbit Hole, so I’ll check in on her a couple of times, to be sure. Left up to me? I’m not sure how that would have gone down. I kinda lashed out.”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret sighs. “Let’s get those beers, huh? I think we all need a few hours off.”

***

A pleasant day with her parents leaves Emma feeling relaxed again, and she actually manages to sleep in on Monday morning. Regina’s banging on the front door rouses Emma, but before she can stumble across the living room, an impatient Regina has teleported herself inside.

“Rude, Regina.”

“And greeting someone in your underwear is the height of good manners?”

“Hey, it’s not like it’s the first time,” Emma reminds her. “I'm putting coffee on.”

“Wise. You’re just skipping work these days?”

“David’s covering,” Emma retorts. “Since you already booked me for magic-proofing and I have no idea how long it takes. Even after flicking through most of those books.”

“Flicking doesn’t teach much. I brought the potion ingredients, and the relevant spells. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to make it work first time, but we should try…”

“Not like you to admit a weakness,” Emma points out. “You feeling okay?”

“It was nice,” Regina confesses. “Having Henry back again so soon. I knew I missed him, I mean it’s an ache. But I hadn’t realized just how much until he was there, making it all go away.”

“I did say you’re welcome to stay with him here,” Emma says. “Or you know, your place if we can magic-proof all of that at some point.”

“Assuming this plan even works,” Regina counters. “As the Dark One, he may well have the knowledge to break this spell with no more than a flick of his wrist.”

“Oh, good. Optimist Regina came to breakfast.”

“I don’t see my coffee in front of me yet.”

“This ain’t Starbucks,” Emma offers. “It’s on, okay?”

“Then let’s get to work,” Regina suggests.

“Right after I find some pants.”

*

By their second round of coffee, Regina declares herself ready.

The furniture is pushed back against the walls, not that there’s exactly lots of it now that Mary Margaret has moved out. In jeans and a tank top, Emma feels like the hired labor alongside Regina in her fitted black dress, a hint of lace at the hem and the neckline that distracts Emma far more than she wants to admit.

“One wall at a time,” Emma repeats, like she has a clue what she’s talking about. Regina’s been especially on edge since Emma freaked out about a beaker full of what looked like human blood, but turned out to be some sort of rare berries, all puréed in preparation for the spell.

Regina points a finger at the finished potion, smiling when it instantly turns from red to purple, glowing in the oversized glass bottle on the floor. A sort of steam rises from the neck of the bottle, floating directly towards Regina who inhales it with a contented little sigh. Emma doesn’t want to speculate, but the thrill Regina gets from performing magic isn’t a million miles away from the sobbing little sighs that came after her orgasms.

“Here goes,” she mutters, spreading the fingers on each hand and pointing them at the brick wall with the door in it.

The magic bursts forth like water from a fire truck’s hose, and when it hits the brick, the stream turns a vibrant blue. Regina lets it flow through her, her entire body starting to shake, and slowly but surely the whole wall takes on a blue tinge.

“Turn me,” Regina gasps, and Emma springs into action. They’d discussed that Regina might not be able to move too freely, so with hands laid gently on Regina’s hips, Emma turns her towards the adjacent wall, the stream of magic intensifying as it splashes on a fresh surface.

“Again,” Regina grunts when that wall is covered, and Emma duly rotates her to face the kitchen, the magic actually splashing this time as it encounters all the surfaces and cupboards.

“You’re done,” Emma says when the kitchen looks like a platoon of Smurfs exploded in it. Regina doesn’t respond, but she’s shaking so violently now that Emma’s teeth rattle from the simple act of touching her. “Regina? Regina, talk to me.”

Emma steps around and sees blood trickling from Regina’s nose. It’s enough to make her start lowering Regina’s arms in an attempt to stop the spell, but Regina shakes her head frantically.

“Finish… or it won’t work.”

Reluctantly, Emma turns Regina towards the fourth wall, maybe it’s all the glass in the windows, but this one doesn’t seem to take as long. By the time the blue mist joins the first wall again, making all the color disappear, Regina is collapsing into Emma’s waiting arms.

“That better not have killed you,” Emma groans, kneeling carefully and resting Regina’s head in her lap. “When you said ‘a little draining’…”

Regina just gasps instead of responding. Emma lays her hands on Regina’s shoulders again, and this time she just summons a vague feeling of wellbeing. Sure enough, it flows out of Emma’s fingers as a pink cloud, letting Regina rally a moment later.

“Oh,” Regina says, and when Emma moves to remove her hands, Regina lays her own over them and squeezes. “Thank you.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes,” Regina confirms, before pushing herself back to sitting and away from Emma’s hands. “My heart isn’t very happy with me right now, but it worked.”

“Is it your turn for a hospital visit?” Emma jokes. “Because we should definitely get some of those loyalty cards.”

“No,” Regina corrects. “It’s not medical. The spell, well, it draws on the love you hold for someone. In this case, Henry.”

“You can only magic-proof people you love?”

“No, hate works just as well. Magic is emotion, remember?”

“Here,” Emma offers, grabbing a tissue and offering it to Regina for her nose. When she doesn’t react right away, Emma moves in and dabs at the blood for her. Their eyes lock, and Emma’s breath catches in her throat.

Which, luckily, is enough to send Regina scrambling towards the bathroom, saying she can look after herself. The smart thing—the parent-pleasing, all-round good and wise thing—to do is leave Regina alone to sort herself out. But Emma is on her way to the bathroom right behind her, watching Regina from behind mere seconds later, wiping away the rest of the blood that had trickled over her crazily sexy scar.

There are a hundred ways to start this, but in the end, there really aren’t any words that will say it as well as marching over there, backing Regina against the tiled wall, and kissing the hell out of her will.

*

Emma should know better by now, than to think it’s going to be that easy.

She approaches Regina from behind, and somehow in the distraction Regina doesn’t notice that approach, meaning that Emma grabbing Regina by the hips results only in a blood-curdling shriek.

Stumbling away and almost falling into the bathtub, Emma just yells out ‘what the hell?’ before she can think. Ten seconds later the realization of why someone would be so jumpy comes bearing down on her like a freight train.

“Oh, hey,” she soothes, holding up her hands in instant surrender. “I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

“I just...” Regina is gripping the sink now, hard enough to crack the porcelain. “I’m not a fan of surprises. Especially not...well, anyway. I’m fine.”

“I didn’t mean to assume,” Emma feels the apology welling up now, and she won’t be able to breathe until she’s blurted it all out. “It’s just you looked so... and I wanted to...”

“I think it’s quite clear what you wanted,” Regina snaps.

“I’ll go back out there,” Emma says. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

“Wait!” Regina calls after her. “I didn’t want to, you know, not... you caught me off-guard, is all.”

“I thought you were gonna put me through the wall. I mean, I get it. I’ll just know to brace next time I approach you.”

“You don’t make me feel like that. This doesn’t make me feel like that,” Regina says, closing her eyes as though it’s costing her something to admit it. “I know we said we wouldn’t, anymore, but...”

“Me too,” Emma admits. “Is it okay if I--?

“Not if you start treating me like a piece of china. I’m _fine_ ,” Regina states, and she makes her point by yanking Emma from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub and kissing her firmly on the mouth. “Not that we should be doing this at all. Your mother already suspects, and Henry--”

“Well, that just sounds like there’s a risk of getting caught. And I can’t speak for you, Regina, but I’ve always been a bit of a bad girl.”

“Bad? Dear, they didn’t call me the Evil Queen because I stayed out after curfew. You don’t know the first thing about bad.”

“Show me,” Emma whispers, and that flash of Regina’s wicked side, the way her voice deepens and her eyes are a little less hurt and more about hurting, that’s enough to tip Emma from _‘let’s see what happens’_ to _‘holy hell, I’ll combust if she doesn’t touch me’_.

Regina raises an immaculate eyebrow in question, and that alone makes Emma’s knees reconsider holding her up. She clutches at Regina’s black dress with greedy hands, but Regina grips Emma’s hair with much more force.

“Then kneel,” Regina commands, shoving Emma down to ensure the command is obeyed. “And show me just why I should allow you to keep doing this with me, hmm?”

Emma knows she should have a sassy comeback, but her mouth is spectacularly dry, and Regina pulling the hem of her own dress higher and higher has short-circuited Emma’s last hope of forming words.

She slides her hands up the back of Regina’s thighs, the better to hide how those hands are shaking with want. The fact that Regina isn’t actually wearing underwear, just thigh highs, suggests that okay, maybe Emma wasn’t the only one hoping that a morning of casting spells would lead to this.

Kisses are still the first thing that comes to mind, and with more gentleness than she intends, Emma places one, and then another, and then another on the thin strip of tight, dark curls. Regina shifts impatiently, and Emma smiles against her skin. Someone just bought herself a ticket to slow and torturous.

It’s nice to take her time, even if Emma’s knees are going to protest about all the time pressed against the hard tile. She tilts her head back and draws her tongue in a lazy zig-zag through Regina’s wetness, pleased to hear the first encouraging moans that come tumbling from Regina’s mouth. The angle isn’t the greatest, and so Emma pulls back just long enough to say ‘sit’ and nod at the edge of the tub.

At least Regina is feeling cooperative for once.

Grabbing one leg and lifting it on to her shoulder, Emma feels far more in control. Regina’s fingers are still tangled in her hair, but the grip is more encouraging pressure than yanking anyone around now. She leans in and blows gently, provoking a little growl of frustration that melts into a contented sigh at the next touch of Emma’s tongue.

She’s never bought into tracing the alphabet as a technique, but she does spend a long time following every line and lavishing strong licks in every dip. The avoidance of Regina’s clit is making her squirm spectacularly against Emma’s mouth, not least when Emma draws her tongue so, so close and then slips away again, alternating those long licks with soft sucking until Regina really is cursing, and tugging on Emma’s hair and urging her to where Regina quite desperately needs Emma’s touch.

“Patience,” Emma scolds, but Regina is pleading then, her voice somehow liberated by Emma’s own words.

“Please,” she sobs. “Gods, please. I can’t, I can’t...”

Emma’s pretty sure she can, and she reduces each repetition of those words to heaving sighs over the next few minutes, skimming Regina’s clit with slightly more force each time, but still not enough to let her come.

It’s Emma’s name that breaks her determination in the end. It’s the one thing she hasn’t heard Regina say _like this_ and it sounds like something between a prayer and an order to make Regina come. Emma, pushed to the edge by the word alone, can’t resist doing exactly that, her own fingers rubbing hard at her clit as Regina comes with a cry.

And if she refuses to let up with the strokes of her tongue until Regina tenses and practically howls a second time, well, Emma’s learning it’s not always a bad thing to be a perfectionist.

*

“So, we did that again,” Emma says, sitting back on the tile floor and trying to catch her breath.

“Call it… I don’t know, stress release?”

“I swear to God, Regina, if you’re just banging me because you don’t have time to make your Pilates class…”

“I’m more of a spinning girl, actually.”

“Well, that explains the grip your thighs have.”

“I’m told they could kill a man,” Regina muses. “Oh, or a woman. Even easier, I suppose.”

“You know, school isn’t out for another hour,” Emma reminds her, getting up off the floor.

“And to think this relentless streak of yours used to annoy me.”

“I annoyed you?”

“That’s one word for it,” Regina sighs, standing on still-shaky legs.

Oh. Yeah. The whole mortal enemies thing, Emma catches herself almost rewriting history in the post-coital glow. Except they never have been enemies, not really. Just two people whose happiness got caught up in the same threads. Turns out it’s easier to be woven into the same thing than to keep pulling away, to keep unraveling everything.

“What did you have in mind?” Emma asks, before letting Regina take her by the hand and lead her out into the living room and towards the downstairs sleeping area.

“Why don’t you take those clothes off and I’ll show you?”

*

In the scramble for clothes and accessories, Regina is the one to grab Emma’s ringing phone. Answering with a swipe of her thumb, Regina realizes her mistake too late, and tries to style it out with a stilted “Emma Swan’s phone.”

She hands it over thirty seconds later with a perfectly cool “it’s for you”, which provokes Emma into letting the most withering “duh” possible fall from her lips.

“Hey,” she says, relieved and still a little pissed to hear Neal return her greeting. “Oh, you remembered I’m alive again, did you?”

“Tamara already busted my balls on this one, okay? I want to make it up to Henry.”

“I’m sure you do. Until you change your mind halfway there. Or see a shadow and it reminds you of the Dark One or something,” Emma argues. “We can make a plan, but I’m not telling Henry until I actually see you standing here in town.”

“That’s fair,” Neal concedes. “I can take a couple of days, get to work on the house. I, uh, got that message.”

“When are you coming?” Emma asks, ignoring anything else that pops into her head. Talking to Neal is a roller coaster, and now the dips and bends are even sharper, with the past she didn’t know about clashing against the one she actually remembers.

“Let’s say Wednesday,” Neal offers. “I’ll get there in time for him getting out of school, if that’s okay?”

“Fine,” Emma agrees. “I’ll run it by Regina, and if she signs off then I’ll let you know.”

“She’s right there, why don’t you ask her?”

“Because we’re busy, Neal. Someone has to sort out safety issues for Henry.”

“Okay, okay,” he groans. “Let me know by tomorrow night, okay? I need to rent my own car this time.”

“Fine. Later,” Emma signs off, before turning back towards a now immaculate Regina. Only a kinked strand of hair confirms anything was ever out of place at all. “I’m guessing you got the general idea?”

“He can come,” Regina agrees. “But you’re right not to tell Henry until it’s a done deal.”

“First you put out like that, now you’re telling me I’m right?” Emma teases. “Careful, Regina. I might start thinking it’s my birthday.”

“I have to go collect Henry.”

“Go right ahead.”

“We’re doing some more control lessons after dinner.”

“That’s nice.”

“If you’re free,” Regina forces the words out. “It would be okay for you to join us.”

“I’ll stick to my reading,” Emma says, not trusting herself to spend any further time in Regina’s company today. The lace is already peeking at Emma again, and there’s no way the evening ends in a way that won’t traumatize Henry for life. “But when we bring him back tomorrow to test the spell, you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

“Microwave noodles?” Regina snorts. “I’ll skip lunch to save room.”

“Go away, Regina,” Emma orders. “Some of us have learning to do.”

*

Henry is jabbering at a hundred miles an hour as he stumbles into the apartment. Emma watches, car keys still in hand because she only just beat him and Regina home, but he doesn’t react to the spell that lurks silently in the walls.

Huh. Maybe magic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s only when she sees Regina, slumped against the doorframe and barely holding on, that Emma understands the nature of the spell.

“Pour some juice for all of us, kid,” Emma instructs, and Henry goes straight to the fridge because apparently crashing a car buys Emma a little obedience from the little guy. She rushes to Regina’s side, taking her by the arm and leading her straight to the sofa.

“Ow!” Regina protests as her ass hits the cushions. “Are you ever going to learn to be gentle?”

“Are you okay?” Emma asks, crouching low and searching Regina’s face for any sudden blood or further pain. “Did you know this would happen when he got home?”

“I suspected,” Regina admits. “It’s why I had to be here. If you hadn’t invited me, I would have stayed in the hall to ride it out.”

“What’s wrong?” Henry pipes up, bringing over two glasses – one brimming with juice and the other barely two fingers’ worth. That one he hands to Regina, and she smiles in recognition of some private joke between them.

“I’m fine, Henry,” she insists. “When Emma and I were practicing yesterday we cast some protective spells on the apartment. It means none of us will be able to do magic in here anymore.”

“Oh,” Henry responds. “Is this because you’re mad at me for doing magic over the weekend? I mean, teleporting to come get my Mom and stuff?”

“Not at all,” Emma insists. “We just want you to have a safe space where you don’t have to be, you know, magic all the time.”

“So it’s like Rumplestiltskin’s cell?” Henry asks. “You know, in the book.”

“It’s like that in real life, too.”

“Yeah, kid. Even I’ve been there. Trust me, this place smells a whole lot better.”

Emma sips the apple juice from her almost overflowing glass and smiles as reassuringly as she knows how.

“It’s not a punishment, Henry. It’s just a safe place,” Regina insists.

“Mom, are you going to be okay?”

“Of course,” Regina says, resting her glass on her lap. She’s more casual today, in a crisp blue shirt and those tight pants people wear when they go horse-riding. The knee-high boots Emma would happily steal for her own collection. “I’ll start dinner in a while.”

“Who says you’re cooking?” Emma asks.

“Common sense?” Regina retorts. “Unless we all want food poisoning. Henry, get started on your homework, please.”

“You’d think being the Dark One would get you out of making dioramas,” Henry says, heaving a sigh that’s certainly centuries old.

For the first time since that bloodied dagger hit the floor in Gold’s shop, they all laugh together.

*

Henry knows there’s something up when both moms are waiting at the school gate on Wednesday afternoon. Sure, they all had a really cool evening together, and they think he doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure Mom didn’t leave until almost dawn. It looks like Grams was right about them, even if she doesn’t really believe it.

It’s hard to know what to think about that, really. On the one hand, it means no more choosing for him, and everyone spending more time together makes it less weird and awkward than reporting back on his time with each of them. But also, people in couples tend to be kind of gross. Even Gram and Gramps can be kind of icky to be around when they start trying to be all romantic. Henry doesn’t think he needs all that much attention, but there’s going to be a lot less time spent on him if his mothers are being all goopy and always finding each other, or whatever the hell grownups do when they date.

Maybe one day they’ll tell him, because Henry thinks some day he might like to try dating with Paige. She totally didn’t tattle all the times he pulled her pigtails and went running to tell Nicholas about it, so Henry’s pretty sure that counts for something.

Except no one is going to want to date the Dark One. Well, except Belle and she’s pretty much crazy.

“We've got a surprise for you,” Emma says, when Henry accepts a hug from Mom and then from her. “You’re not having dinner with us tonight.”

“Neal is here,” Mom says, and she’s smiling in that fake way she has that makes Henry’s heart feel like it’s going to fall into his tummy. But the thought of his dad actually showing up to see him is more than Henry can pretend not to care about.

“He is? Cool!”

“So, we’re going to take you to Granny’s, and you guys can hang out for a while, okay?”

“I can walk myself you know.”

“Well,” Emma argues. “I’m actually just going to get some decent hot chocolate, so don’t flatter yourself, kid.”

“Then why’s Mom coming too?” Henry demands. “Are you two on a date?”

“Henry!” Mom scolds, but it’s totally worth it. Worth it to be talking about stuff that families talk about instead of how doomed they all are and how Henry is basically the devil now or something; he doesn’t like them thinking about him that way.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs. “Come on, I wanna see my dad.”

He takes off running, and laughs when they start jogging after him. This is going to be fun.

*

“You sure this is a good idea?” Emma asks as they watch from across the street, seeing Henry run into the dinner and practically tackle Neal to the ground with a hug.

“He’s your ex,” Regina points out, arms folded across her chest. “You tell me.”

“Don’t get jealous,” Emma mocks. “Don’t want you turning into the Wicked Witch of the West on me.”

“Firstly, I’m not jealous. And secondly, Elphaba’s skin condition is a cautionary tale about irresponsible people experimenting with potions they don’t understand.”

“You really know how to suck the joy out of a one-liner, don’t you?”

“I try.”

“So, I guess we’re free for a few hours.”

“I’m sure you have lots to catch up on,” Regina says, her eyes never leaving the diner window.

“Well, I have an empty apartment. And this whipped cream that I got at the store. But yeah, maybe I should go do some paperwork.”

“You’re propositioning me in the middle of Main Street?” Regina hisses from the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Emma replies. “I guess I am.”

“Hmm,” Regina looks away from the window at last, and when she stares Emma down, she’s practically licking her lips.

“Is the cream organic?”

*

It takes Emma forever to answer the phone, and when she does she’s really out of breath. She doesn’t usually go running after dark.

“Hey,” Henry says. “Can I stay overnight with Dad at Granny’s? He says he can drop me at school in the morning.”

“Sure,” Emma agrees, just a little too quickly. “But make sure he gets you there on time, kid. Tell Neal I know how he is about being punctual.”

“Yeah,” Henry agrees. “Love you, see you tomorrow.”

“Love you too,” Emma says after a moment, and it sounds like it took her by surprise and she kinda mumbles it, but it’s still nice to hear. Henry ends the call and tucks the phone back in his backpack. He settles down in his hiding place opposite the mines, waiting for the late shift to end.

So Dad doesn’t think he can spend time around magic again, huh? Well, Henry will fix that once and for all.

*

Regina’s hovering by the stove in Emma’s bathrobe, poking at the frittata that smells freaking amazing. If she’d known all this time that you could do these things with a few vegetables and some herbs, Emma might not have lived on ramen for quite so damn long.

“Henry’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Emma confirms. “Sounds like boy bonding time. Neal will probably let him stay up too late, and we’ll have a crankypants to deal with after his long day at school tomorrow, but better than the alternative, right?”

“He could just as easily come home. There’s no need for sleepovers in a town this size.”

“What happened to not looking for a fight with Henry if we don’t have to?”

“Fine,” Regina sighs. “Get some plates, could you?”

“Say ‘please’, could you?” Emma fires back, and given the last time she made Regina say ‘please’, it’s satisfying to see the blush creep over Regina’s face. It turns out someone is very ticklish, especially when Emma writes her name in whipped cream and licks it from Regina’s hipbones, or her breasts.

“Get some plates, please,” Regina amends. “Your Highness.”

“Ew,” Emma says as she opens the cupboard and retrieves two plates that actually match. “Doesn’t matter who says it, those words still don’t fit me.”

“Neither does seeing the same person more than once, and yet here I am, making you dinner again. We don’t even have Henry as an excuse.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, backing up against the counter slowly. If Regina is working through her feelings, even in a magic-free space it’s wise to keep a safe distance. “Guess some things are just worth a second shot after all.”

“You mean the sex? I think that counted as the fifth, not the second.”

“Of course you keep score,” Emma groans. “But when we… when it’s us doing… that, I feel normal again. It’s good, yeah, but it’s that I get to be Emma again. I get to do something I understand, and I’m not suddenly gonna suck at it.”

“You definitely don’t suck at it,” Regina concedes, and as compliments go that’s practically gushing for her. “And don’t think you can take all the credit, but I think this is the first time I’ve enjoyed it… that I’ve enjoyed sex for what it is. No power games. No obligation.”

“The other day, when I came up behind you and you lashed out—“

“Don’t be dense, Miss Swan,” Regina snaps. “You already know the answer, or you wouldn’t be able to form the question.”

“I’m trying to be respectful.”

“And I’m not going to let you pity me. So save the Bambi eyes and tender questioning for someone else. What’s done is done.”

“Wait,” Emma can’t help herself, she changes the subject. “You didn’t do Bambi’s mom, right? That’s not one of yours?”

“Graham,” Regina says tightly. “He was a huntsman, after all.”

The frittata is on the plate now, but Regina is still gripping the pan hard enough that it looks like the skin on her knuckles might split. Sink or swim, Emma decides. She’s been kidding herself to call this ‘just sex’. You don’t obsess over someone for a year and then get it out of your system with a few good fucks and the liberal application of dairy products.

She steps in closer, pries the pan from Regina’s hand, and places the pan back on the stove because nobody wants hot metal to the side of the head. And in maybe the most awkward move of her life, Emma slips her arms around Regina’s waist from behind, and rests her chin on Regina’s shoulder.

“If they hurt you… the ones who hurt you. Maybe it’s all this magic and co-mommy stuff, but I want to rip their throats out.”

“Messier than a heart,” Regina says in a choked voice. “And all of them are dead, now.”

“You’ve done some terrible things,” Emma sighs. “But I can’t help thinking some of them might be justified.”

“Spare me the Charming forgiveness, Emma,” Regina says, and she wriggles for a moment before changing her mind and settling into Emma’s hold. “When this lust fades, you’ll go back to wanting my head on a spike.”

“Okay, no Game of Thrones marathon for you,” Emma teases. She should be panicking at this closeness, this easy intimacy that seems to grow every time they pull each other into orbit, but it’s like a cold drink on a hot day, and Emma didn’t realize how goddamn thirsty she’s been her whole life. “I’m not ignoring your past, Regina. I’m not saying it won’t cause a fuckton of problems, not least with my parents. But I think this is making both of us feel better. You get why I don’t want to stop?”

“You don’t?” Regina whispers. “Idiocy really must be genetic. God help our son.”

“I’m not naïve,” Emma says, turning Regina around easily so they face each other. “I know this doesn’t end with a white picket fence and a Labradoodle. But I’m tired of the goddamn greater good, aren’t you? I have to save everyone, so why can’t I have this for myself?”

“You don’t get to ‘have’ me,” Regina counters, her eyes hardening. The warmth deserts them, and they’re almost completely black as she stares Emma down. “I’m nobody’s possession.”

“You know what I mean,” Emma says, and because she’s always going to fail when it comes to words, she tries to say it with a kiss instead. The moment’s resistance from Regina is enough to make Emma stop, but then Regina is clutching at blonde hair and pulling Emma back and yeah, they’re good at this. “So, omelet?” Emma asks when they part, a little breathless.

“Frittata,” Regina corrects. “And fine. The sooner we eat, the sooner we go back to bed.”

*

It’s careless to let Regina answer the door, but she’s way more dressed than Emma and close enough that the damn thing is opening before Emma can remind her not to.

Neal stands there, hand still in the air from knocking. He looks at Regina, then looks at Emma who’s only in jeans and a bra, and he may not be a genius but he puts it together quickly enough.

“Don’t start,” Emma warns. “Is Henry outside? Or did you drop him off at school this early?”

“What are you talking about?” Neal replies. “I dropped him off here last night.”

“Uh, no,” Emma says, pulling her black-and-white baseball tee on. “You think we’d be running around like this with the kid sleeping here?”

“Where is my son, Baelfire?” Regina demands, and she lashes out to magic slam him against the wall, but of course there’s nothing doing. Emma would snicker if she weren’t chilled with sudden panic.

“He said he had to get home in time,” Neal says. “I swear, I saw him walk in the front door before I drove off.”

“And you didn’t piece together that he could wait in the hall? Jesus, Neal. Suck harder at being a dad, could you?”

“Hey! Whose fault is it I’m not exactly experienced at this crap?”

“This isn’t helping,” Regina says, playing the reluctant peacemaker. “We have to find him. Let’s pray he hasn’t made it out of town again.”

“You got a way to track him?” Emma asks, grabbing her phone and keys. She hesitates for a second, before jogging over to the kitchen.

“Once we’re outside, yes,” Regina replies, pulling her coat on and grabbing her purse. She looks up in time to see Emma open the safe. “No, Emma. No!”

“Can’t risk it,” Emma says. “The kid is obviously trying to skip out on us. We’re gonna ring my parents, check he’s not there. But he’d have no reason to lie about that. And then we’re organizing a search.”

“He might just be upset,” Regina pleads. “Don’t use that on him.”

“You can try using it now,” Neal suggests. “Tell him to come home right away.”

“He’ll only run again if we force him,” Emma points out. “And what if he’s hurt? What if someone who knows was waiting here for him?”

“Don’t you think you two would have heard someone lurking in the hall?” Neal demands. “Oh, right,” he amends as Emma feels her face heat up and Regina averts her gaze.

“Let’s move,” Regina insists. “Henry needs us, not a discussion of what happened last night.”

“Lead the way,” Emma says, shoving the dagger into the inside pocket of her jacket.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: physical violence and past child abuse.

“I can’t believe you made me get in the back,” Neal grouses as Emma brings her new car to a skidding stop at the start of the hiking trail. If she risks driving any further, her suspension will probably never forgive her. 

“You want to duke it out for shotgun with the Evil Queen, be my guest,” Emma tells him, shooting Regina a look as they both clamber out of the car and start down the trail. Neal is behind them a few moments later, jogging to keep up. 

“What’s the GPS say?” He asks, directing the question straight to Regina. Well, at least he isn’t terrified of her.

“Down this trail...” Regina stops for a moment to get her bearings, the purple ball in her hand glowing in a way Emma can’t even begin to understand. “If we follow this path it brings us out at the well.”

“The well we came back through?” Emma confirms as they pick up the pace again. “That can’t be good, right?” 

“Probably not,” Regina snaps, and without her usual makeup applied she seems so much smaller, so much more fragile that Emma doesn’t dare to look at her for longer than snatched moments. “Especially since it’s how Gold brought magic to this town in the first place.”

“Shit.” Well, it sums it up nicely, and Emma’s not exactly feeling eloquent. She wishes her parents were here, and doesn't, all at the same time. After a call confirmed they hadn't seen Henry, there wasn't time to do anything but follow Regina's tracking spell.

“There he is,” Neal hisses, ducking behind a tree like the seasoned criminal that he is. Emma follows suit, and after a moment Regina follows her to get out of sight. “How do we do this?”

“Let me approach him,” Regina suggests. “I’ve been... that is, I’ve been upset and run away before. I also know what it’s like to struggle under the weight of magic. It should be me.”

“You sure?” Emma asks, silently relieved that she doesn’t have to do it. All they’ve pieced together on the ride over is that last night Neal told Henry he’d rather the kid stop doing magic, but he seemed to take that just fine. It doesn’t explain why a kid would stay out all night, and David has already sent a text saying Henry was spotted outside the mines just after dawn.

“Yes,” Regina says. “I’m going over to him. Follow me, but stay out of sight at first.”

“Yes ma’am,” Neal says, beckoning for Emma to follow him. He’s already scouted out a route down to the clearing, no doubt. She moves across quickly, light on her feet, all the while watching Regina walk quite normally down the path, hands shoved in the pockets of her trenchcoat.

“I don’t want to have to use this knife,” Emma mutters, never taking her eyes off Regina.

“So,” Neal whispers as they move from behind one tree trunk to another. “That’s what’s been keeping you busy lately, huh? Oh, I don’t blame you for staring. I wouldn’t be able to help watching her walk away, either.”

“This isn’t really the time to be eyeing up Henry’s mom’s ass,” Emma warns him. “You’re sure you didn’t say anything else to the kid last night? To freak him out, or make him angry?”

“Only what I told you. And I swear to God, he seemed totally cool about it. Said he wasn’t using magic much anyway. Doesn’t like it, all that.”

“Hmm,” Emma turns the words over in her brain a few times. “Seems the kid has inherited our ability to bullshit.”

“Comforting.”

“Yeah.”

They move closer again as Regina walks up to the well. Sure enough, her footsteps are enough to bring Henry scurrying out from behind the low brick wall. Emma’s heart sinks at the sight of dynamite sticks in his hand, followed a moment later by the metallic taste of pure panic.

Please, please, please let Regina know what she’s doing.

“What are you doing here?” Henry spits. He looks pale, exhausted; like he might burst into tears at any second. As Emma edges closer, she notices the sparkle is back on his skin, like he fell asleep on something decorated by glitter pen.

“Sweetheart, what’s that you have in your hand?” Regina stops on the opposite side of the well, not getting close enough to grab. Emma can’t decide if that’s good sense or a wasted opportunity.

“If I say candy canes, will you believe me?”

Emma would snort at that, if things weren’t so freaking scary. Neal has no reservations about chuckling though, and she jabs him in the ribs with her elbow. He shoves her back, and just for a moment they could be in Portland and casing some joint to rob and not everything is so terrifying that Emma’s bones ache.

“Henry, please. Whatever has upset you, we can talk about. But I can’t do that when you’re holding something so dangerous.”

“Sorry, Mom. I have a mission.”

Henry does the thumb flicking thing again to make a flame pop into view, and that’s enough to make Emma and Neal burst out of the trees at a run. Whatever happens, he’s not lighting that fuse. Regina reacts first, disappearing the dynamite with a wave of her hand, and it’s so weak a movement that Emma could swear she can hear Regina’s heart break as she does it.

Stumbling to a stop, Emma waits for a moment before approaching her son with only one half-grasped idea in mind.

“Leave me alone!” He shrieks, lashing out with one arm. The blast of red magic misses Emma entirely, but it hits Neal square in the chest, making him wobble for a moment and then just completely fade from view.

“What did you do, Henry?” Emma is almost screaming as she grabs him by the arms. She wants to shake him, wants that so badly, but the memory of too many grown-up hands on her young arms stops her in time. “Where’s Neal?”

“I don’t want him here,” Henry squeals, and he won’t look Emma in the eyes. He wriggles to get out of her grasp but she clings to the damp wool of his coat. “I sent him away! Just like he wants to keep me away, as long as I have magic.”

Emma reaches inside her jacket, holding Henry with the other hand.

“No!” Regina shouts from right behind her. Then she leans in, whispering against Emma’s ear. “You can’t risk him getting hold of it.”

So Emma holds Henry with both hands again, and closing her eyes like she did in the hospital all those months ago, she focuses all her energy on the sweet kiss she places on his forehead. He still smells of kid shampoo and a little like the forest, and if his skin is a little clammy then it doesn’t matter because this will work, dammit.

She kisses him once, twice and pulls away to look at him. His face scrunches in sudden anger, but there’s no mistaking the way the creepy gold shimmer starts to roll right off his face.

“You’re trying to take it away from me!” He screams, and this time he blasts Emma and Regina right across the clearing, though neither one of them disappears. "It's not my fault! But nobody is going to love me as long as I have this stupid power!"

"We love you, Henry," Regina pleads as she picks herself up off the dirt. She touches the crown of her head carefully, and her fingers come away bloodied. "And all we want is to find a safe way for you to be a normal boy, just like everyone else."

"I've never been normal!" Henry yells back, pacing wildly now, almost falling over his own feet. "How could I be? My mother is the Evil Queen! I was the only kid getting older! And it's not like being a Charming is a piece of cake, either! Did you know half the town blames Gram and Gramps for what happened to everyone? That’s what the kids at school just _love_ to tell me."

Emma moves closer to Regina, worried by how unsteady she seems on her feet. Regina steps forward as Emma reaches her, effectively shrugging off the offered help. Of all the times to be pig-headed, Regina certainly can pick them.

“We’re all to blame, Henry,” Regina tells him. “We’ve all done terrible things. But the one thing we all still have in common is that we love you, including your grandparents.” Emma can’t begin to calculate what that admission just cost Regina. “And we all just want you to be safe.”

“Then let me get rid of magic!”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Regina says. “If you could blow it up, or wish it away, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“So I’m gonna be like you?” he yells. “Too weak to stop using it?”

Fuck. He might as well have slapped Regina from the way she flinches at his words. Emma steps up, because otherwise this is going somewhere nobody comes back from without a hell of a lot of crying.

“Kid!” She calls out, and he turns on her with his eyes actually-fucking-glowing which makes her momentarily concerned for the contents of her stomach, but she takes a deep breath and forces herself to hold eye contact.

“My name,” he practically growls, “is Henry.”

“Henry,” she tries again, sounding a bit like she’s begging and not caring in the slightest. “You need to calm down. And we’re all going to go back to the apartment and talk about this calmly. Okay?”

“That’s where I sent Neal,” he says, with a dry little chuckle. “What do you think happens when you magic someone into a magic-proof prison?”

“Did it...” Emma can’t form the thought, never mind the words. “Is he...?” She looks to Regina in desperation, who barely shakes her head in acknowledgment.

“It would... hurt,” Regina says after a moment. “But it shouldn’t have killed him.”

“Oh,” Emma breathes, bending forward and clutching her knees. “Oh, thank God.”

Regina shoots a look her way that looks a lot like the jealous one from outside the diner yesterday, and Emma has no idea what to do with that right now. Instead she forces herself to stand up straight, and strides back across the clearing to their son.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She snaps. “You’re a good kid. And I know that magic is scary. I didn’t like waking up full of it either. I didn’t even know I had it until I jumpstarted your mom’s magic like she was a busted-up car, but there you go. Life sucks sometimes, _Henry_. And I know this magic inside you is strong, but you’ve had a good life, and a mom who loves you. You found the rest of your family when you were ten, not at 28 like me. It’s not too late for you.”

“Emma--” Regina sounds more like she’s warning than telling off, but Emma can’t stop now. She can smell the earth beneath her feet, hear the trees rustling in the breeze around them. It looks like it might rain again, and that somehow makes it all feel so much more urgent.

“So choose to be good,” Emma tells him, kneeling in front of her kid now, not caring that the ground is damp and the mud seeps into the knees of her jeans. “Choose to not hurt anyone, and ask for help when it feels too much or something hurts. But there is no excuse for staying out all night, and lying, and stealing freakin’ dynamite. Do you know how dangerous that is? Magic doesn’t stop you turning into pink mist, okay? Did you even think about that?”

Henry is shaking now, tears streaking down his face over the glittery gold. Emma reaches out one hand, hoping she’s gotten through to him. She pauses for just a second, looking to Regina for support, when she feels it.

Just like the confrontation in Gold’s shop the day all this started, there’s a sudden, crushing pressure at Emma’s throat.

Squeezing.

She can’t draw breath

Her eyes feel too big for their sockets already. Her face is straining. She doesn’t know if she’s crying, or her eyes are just watering, but it really might be both.

And it’s Henry this time. Henry, who learns from his mother even when Emma isn’t around. When did she teach him this? Emma wonders that as she claws at the invisible fingers wrapped around her throat.

He lifts her.

Emma kicks out in some vain bid to hold on to the ground, but she’s weightless and hanging there. That’s when she sees the purple swirl at the very edge of her vision, right before the blackness starts creeping in.

She tries to yell for help, as if Regina couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but sure enough when Henry jerks Emma’s choking body to the side, she can see that Regina is very much gone.

“Please,” she tries to choke out, but there’s no air. No air. It’s too hard. Emma blinks. Blinks again. And despite the feeling like she’s kicking off the bottom of the pool and straining for the surface (it burns, god it burns deep in her chest) the world slowly fades away.

***

“We should let her rest.”

“How do we know Regina actually healed her? This could be another sleeping curse for all we know,” David grumbles, leaning over Emma before she can open her eyes.

“You saw what happened,” Mary Margaret reminds him. “It was Henry. He did this.”

“Henry!” Emma forces herself the rest of the way awake and tries to sit up. Her lower back muscles clench in protest, and she collapses back against the mattress. Looking around, Emma realizes she doesn’t recognize the pale green walls or the creamy-colored curtains. “Where am I?”

“You’re at our place,” Mary Margaret explains, pressing a cool cloth against Emma’s forehead. “Regina said we should bring you here until you feel better. She took Henry back to the apartment.”

“Oh shit, where’s Neal?” Emma asks. “Henry blasted him with something that seemed pretty scary and--”

“Ruby found him,” David explains. “She took him to the hospital, and Whale’s done everything he can with the medicine of this world. But Neal is... well, he hasn’t regained consciousness. The Blue Fairy is consulting now.”

“I should go check on him,” Emma decides, edging towards the other side of the bed, determined to try a more graceful movement this time. She swallows, and there’s a dull ache around her throat. “Oh,” she groans. “Guess Regina didn’t have time to finish healing.”

“I told you!” David all but explodes, striding towards the door. “That woman is up to something, and we let her waltz off with Henry.”

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, reaching for her jacket on the bedpost. “I have his dagger right... oh, fuck.” It’s gone.

“Both of you calm down,” Mary Margaret insists. “Regina explained all of this.”

“Did she explain why she disappeared when I actually needed her help?” Emma snaps. “Because last thing I remember is her booking it out of that clearing on a puff of smoke.”

“She came to get us, didn’t she, David? Appeared in the living room, grabbed us both by the arm, and two blinks later we were in the clearing with you.”

“Where she left Henry _choking_ me.”

“She stopped him--gently--as soon as she dropped us on the ground,” Mary Margaret continues. “I’d forgotten how graceful she can be. In no more than a moment she had pulled the dagger from your jacket and told Henry to release you.”

“Your mother is telling it just like it happened,” David agrees, but the reluctance is so strong it’s almost a physical presence in the room. “Then she waved her hands over you and said we should take you back to your car and bring you here.”

“Well,” Emma says, closing her eyes and summoning the healing magic inside of her. This time she finishes the job, moving her hands slowly until her back stops aching and the swelling in her throat goes down completely. “I’ve got to go check on Neal. Did anyone call Tamara?”

“Are you taking Henry with you?” Mary Margaret is the one to ask, and it stops Emma three strides into her hasty escape. “Or are you going to check on him after?”

“Far as I’m concerned?” Emma replies. “Regina’s welcome to him. I’ll work out something because the apartment is the only safe place to keep him, but I don’t want to look at him right now.”

“He’s just a little boy,” Mary Margaret pleads, and Emma feels like this is her mother’s excuse for everything. Seems like it was her excuse for everything that happened to Regina, too. Maybe people really don’t change. “He was scared, and upset, and he reacted badly...”

“I swore a long time ago that nobody--nobody--would ever lay their hands on me again,” Emma manages to say, but the words feel like spitting as each is fired from her lips. “I’m not about to break that rule and let an eleven year-old beat me when he can’t control his temper.”

“Emma--” David is following her downstairs, but she rounds on him, ready to lash out with her own fists.

“No! No, you hear me? No,” she yells. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to preach at me about love and being a good person and whatever-the-fuck, because you made me this way. You sent me to this life and this is how I am. And enough people already thought I made a decent punching bag, so I am not gonna take it from my own kid.”

“Sweetheart,” Mary Margaret is crying now, but Emma doesn’t know what the hell to do with that. She grabs her car keys instead, and once she’s clear of the house’s front door, she makes damn sure to slam it behind her.

***

“Hey,” Emma says, a half hour later when most of the nervous energy is burned off. “Dr. Whale said he filled you in?”

“I’m just leaving,” Tamara responds. “He’s a bit of a gossip, your man Whale. I’m guessing this is a Henry problem? Because he was implying Regina did it, but... should I be... I mean, how scared should I be?”

“I’m just outside Neal’s room,” Emma explains. “His shoulder is pretty busted up, but they’re pretty confident they’ll be able to bring him around again. Apparently, in magic terms, it’s kind of like he charged a linebacker without wearing his pads.”

“Ouch,” Tamara sighs. “You’re not just giving me the manageable version so I don’t crash on the drive up?”

“I swear, I’m not. And you’re right about who did it.”

“Okay. I’m gonna trust you. Mostly because it’s easier than to not.”

“I’ve heard worse reasons,” Emma admits. “Everyone’s telling me to go check on Henry,” she blurts next. “It’s not weird that I really don’t want to, right?”

“Well, I don’t have kids,” Tamara hedges. “But I’ll admit I don’t want to lay eyes on him, now that I know what he did to Neal. I can only imagine that’s worse for you. My grandma would have whooped my ass for so much as talking back to her though, so I guess I’d never have thought about beating on her.”

“More like choking, in my case,” Emma supplies. “And I don’t even know where to start on the consequences stuff, when we’re supposed to be keeping his little problem a secret.”

“Well, it sounds like one of those things you might have to reconsider. Maybe secrecy is gonna let him get away with things. Listen, I just got to the car, so--’

“Right,” Emma sighs. “Sorry to unload on you, it’s just everyone else has an agenda, or this weirdass fairytale morality that just doesn’t apply for me, you know?”

“From what I’ve heard about Regina, she doesn’t seem to like it much either,” Tamara nudges. “Maybe she’s the one you need to talk to right now.”

“Maybe,” Emma concedes. “Drive safe.”

***

It takes most of the rest of the day for Emma to talk herself into going back to her own home. Arguing, in the end, that she at least needs some clean clothes, she forces herself to drive down familiar streets as the sun threatens to set overhead. Her stomach is rumbling because food seemed like too social an activity, and she’s spent most of the day sipping at warm Diet Coke and sitting around in her car.

As she approaches her front door, Emma’s more than a little surprised to see it open and Mary Margaret stride out, face like thunder.

“Emma!” she cries out. “Oh, I’m so glad you decided to come, after all. Regina is being... well, she’s being her usual difficult self.”

“I guess you could argue she has a lot on her plate today. How’s the kid?”

“He’s sulking, upstairs. Didn’t want to see me.”

“Did he ask if I’m okay? Neal?”

“I’m sure he did,” Mary Margaret lies. “Because Regina asked, so you know it had to be on his behalf. Although...” She trails off, looking back at the door she closed behind her.

“Although what?” Emma presses, curiosity piqued.

“I’ve known Regina for such a long time,” Mary Margaret says, smiling in a weak sort of way, a smile that barely lifts the corners of her mouth, never mind reaching all the way to her eyes. “Time is such a strange concept, after the curse. But I know her right down in my bones, you know?”

“So?” Emma shifts from one foot to the other.

“She was in tears, using that dagger to control Henry. I thought I’d seen someone with a broken heart before, I thought I understood what Regina in pain looked and sounded like... but that was worse than I ever dared imagine. All afternoon, I tried to think about what I would feel like if you’d been the one to stab Rumplestiltskin... and I still couldn’t grasp the horror of it. Because I wasn’t raised by Cora, you see. I try to imagine dark and terrible things, but life gave me so much love as a protection against those very thoughts.”

“Bad crap has happened to you, too,” Emma points out.

“It has. I’ve feared for my life. I lost both my parents, I lost friends in battle over my throne. I lost Johanna just the other week, and of course, I lost you for all those years. But my losses... I don’t really know how to explain this, Emma. But I feel like you’ll understand. My losses hurt me terribly. But they hurt me less, because they came out of the love and goodness that my life has been blessed by. When Regina loses someone, or is faced with the choice of doing unspeakable things... I don’t know what she draws upon, but I suspect it isn’t love or acceptance. This morning you reminded me that you may well feel the same.”

“Yeah,” Emma whispers. “I guess I do.”

“And I am so, so sorry.”

“Well,” Emma huffs, looking towards the door. “Guess I’d better go face the music, huh?”

“Just... I know it’s hard,” Mary Margaret says. “But try to put yourself in Henry’s place, too. There’s no excuse for what he did, but there are ways to help him. Don’t let him be another one who grows up angry because people gave up on him too soon.”

“That’s one hell of a guilt trip,” Emma complains.

“I’m told it’s what mothers are good at,” Mary Margaret assures her. “And I’m not saying get over it all in a day. But if you can find a way, you should. With Regina’s help, even.”

“You’re changing your mind about her?”

“No, not exactly,” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’ve been wrong so many times about her capacity to change, I don’t dare hope for it these days. And yet...”

“And yet. She does love Henry. Probably more than anyone.”

“That’s not always healthy. But she did the right thing for everyone, today. Maybe her reasons were selfish, or wrong, but it doesn’t feel that way. If she was still inclined... she could have let you die today, so easily. But she saved you, and still found a way to protect Henry from exposure. I don’t think those are the actions of someone truly evil, do you?”

“If you’re quite done talking about me,” Regina says, opening the door. “Emma, can I have a word?”

“I should get home to your father,” Mary Margaret says, pulling Emma into a hug and kissing her firmly on the cheek. “You know where we are if you need anything.”

“I do,” Emma confirms. “I’ll probably be back in a little while, okay?”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret says, winking at Emma as she pulls away.

“What?”

“I’m not a complete idiot, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, making her way downstairs. “No matter what Walt Disney had to say about it.”

“Well?” Regina demands, arms folded over her chest and looking every bit the queen, despite her lack of makeup and exhausted eyes.

“Is there any point reminding you that you don’t actually live here?” Emma groans. “And that I don’t need an invite into my own place? Assuming, that is, I even want to come in.”

“Why are you here if not to come in?”

“Can’t let it drop for just a second, can you? Always got to ask the smartass question,” Emma sighs. “Is there coffee in this magic-free prison?”

“I just put a fresh pot on,” Regina informs her, as Emma pushes past her into the apartment.

***

“You disappeared!” Emma whines, placing her empty coffee mug on the table and of course there’s no coaster because where would she even get something like that, anyway? “Who does that?”

“I went to get your parents!” Regina growls right back at her. “Think for a moment what it would have looked like: you, possibly dead in the woods, and me blaming ‘the Dark One’. Do you think they’d have let me expose that truth to the town? Do you think _I_ would have allowed it? Risking Henry like that?”

“My own son tried to kill me!” Emma whisper-yells, glancing up the stairs on reflex. “And the one person who was supposed to have my back just fucking evaporated.”

“Well, let’s make this all about your abandonment issues, then,” Regina snipes. “Better that than deal with the actual situation, which I did. Successfully. You’re alive, Henry is safely in here, and Neal is getting medical care. What more could I have done, Emma? You tell me.”

“You could have...” Emma trails off, because everything that comes to mind involves Regina helping Emma from the ground, or cradling Emma in her lap, or smoothing Emma’s hair down before kissing her softly on the mouth and... Jesus. No. “I don’t know,” Emma confesses a moment later. “But it was scary, blacking out like that, thinking nobody had my back.”

“I’m familiar,” Regina responds, and her voice is so tense that Emma could swear it’s about to snap, like an overstretched rubber band. “Are you going upstairs?”

“I don’t really want to,” Emma admits. “Did you two talk?”

“He’s very angry with me,” Regina says, standing and brushing imaginary crumbs from the gray slacks and white blouse she’s changed into since this morning. “He is worried about how much he hurt you and Neal, but I’ve only given him the facts. I thought it might not be wise to tell him things would all be fine.”

“We did say we’d stick to the truth.”

“Does that mean letting him know what we’ve been doing?” Regina tosses the question back over her shoulder as she takes the empty cups over to the sink. “Or does it mean actually stopping, so we don’t have to lie about it?”

Emma considers for a moment, before following Regina into the kitchen, dragging her into the corner by the fridge where no one spying from his bedroom door is going to be able to see.

“The one thing I haven’t hated since all this started is... what we’re doing,” Emma mutters, brushing Regina’s hair back from her face with slightly shaky fingers. “And I guess we found out today that I still have a million issues. God knows you do, too. But the other stuff feels manageable when we do this.”

“It’s not good,” Regina argues. “As soon as Henry shut himself in the bedroom I found myself wishing you were here. And no, not just to share the burden or take your turn in telling him what he did was wrong. I kept slipping out of the front door to check on you. I enchanted the compact in my purse. I haven’t enchanted a mirror in almost three decades, but I did it today.”

“Creepy, Regina.”

“I don’t exactly know how to do all this. Can you just try to see the compliment in it?”

“Okay. I guess.”

“Of course, if that’s not how you feel about it--”

“Regina,” Emma sighs, the word muffled as she presses a kiss to the side of Regina’s neck. Their arms have already sought out a loose sort-of embrace, and it should be weird and claustrophobic and all the things Emma doesn’t do. Instead she wants to pull Regina closer, to lay her down on the nearest surface and to hell with curses and kids and responsibility. “I don’t know what to say about that stuff. But you can read me, right?”

“I think so,” Regina sounds more cautious than Emma has ever heard her. “Everyone else would say it’s selfish. That we should focus entirely on Henry.”

“We focus plenty,” Emma argues. “And too much focus ends up in dynamite and chokeholds. My uh, Mary Margaret said you had to use the dagger.”

“You can get a dreamcatcher if you want to see,” Regina sighs. “But don’t make me talk about it.”

“It’s fine. I guess, if you change your mind and you need to... I’m sorry it had to be you, this time.”

“I think I was being too indulgent, before. This isn’t a parenting exercise with the naughty step. This is life and death,” Regina explains. “We should talk to him, together, maybe. With a new plan for how things are going to go.”

“You haven’t pushed me away yet,” Emma says, smiling as Regina rolls her eyes.

“Yet,” Regina emphasizes. “I feel trapped here,” she admits, tensing a little in Emma’s arms. “It’s been a very long day.”

“How about,” Emma suggests. “We get the babysitters in? Henry can’t get up to anything here. And we could go relax and sort things out without worrying about eavesdropping.”

“You think?”

“Go tell Henry. I’m calling Ruby, then my parents. I’ll make sure someone is awake and watching him all night until we’re ready.”

“You don’t want to--”

“You go. It’s... I will. Just not tonight.”

Regina pulls away and makes her way upstairs as Emma dials, relieved when Ruby picks up after just a couple of rings.

“Ruby, I know Granny probably can’t spare you, but I kinda need a sitter,” Emma explains.

“It’s dead in here, actually,” Ruby replies. “At your place? Is it okay if I bring Lacey? We were just hanging out here, since there’s not much to do.”

“Might be better to fly solo,” Emma urges. “Henry’s been acting out magic-wise. He can’t do any here at the apartment, so you’re totally fine. But I can’t be sure he won’t discuss it in front of strangers. He’s pretty pissed.”

“I get the whole story at some point, right?” Ruby teases, and Emma could hug her through the phone for how damn normal she sounds. Regina appears at the top of the stairs, and Emma hurries to end the call.

“You will,” Emma promises. “Any chance you can come over sort of now-ish?”

“Sure,” Ruby says. “Just let me cash out and I’ll head over.”

Regina watches, hands on her hips. Emma can see the traces of a woman surveying her kingdom, commanding an army. It shouldn’t be the turn on that it is, but Emma has already promised herself that for the next few hours, she’s damn well going to have something approaching fun.

“We can leave when Ruby gets here,” Emma says.

“He’s asking for you.”

Emma shakes her head, moves over towards the sofa instead.

“You’re not worried that Ruby will suspect? Mention it to your parents?” Regina asks as she descends the stairs and joins Emma on the sofa.

“I think Mary Margaret has already worked it out?” Emma ventures, closing her eyes for a second in case Regina’s reaction is explosive. “I think the whole ‘anyone but Regina’ routine might have been some kind of test.”

“Not that there’s anything to tell them.”

“Right.”

“Do you have a plan for this evening, or...?”

“Somewhere with wine. A little privacy. And maybe we can just talk like two adults and work it all out from there, hmm?” Emma suggests. It’s all she has so far, so it kinda has to be enough.

“We’re not being irresponsible? Leaving Henry like this?”

“It’s just one evening,” Emma reassures her. “And trust me, it’s better for all of us if I can have a few more hours to remember how much I do actually love him. Otherwise...”

“Okay,” Regina agrees, nodding almost to herself in confirmation. “So, does this qualify as a date?”

Emma sees the obvious trap, radiating in the fake-not-that-interested glance that Regina follows it with. It would be so easy to blow it now, to ruin this fragile, unnamed thing by getting squirmy or freaking out at words like ‘date’. Emma can feel the reflex trigger inside her, because God knows she’s done it so many times before. The only actual dates she’s ever been on were bounty setups, once a guy she worked for pointed out how effective that would be for a ‘pretty girl like her’.

“A date?” She repeats, tongue darting out for half a second to moisten her bottom lip. “Yeah, I guess so.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night, after a fashion. And Henry is a non-magical kid who needs a babysitter. What could possibly go wrong?

“I think we should go b-- 

“No, you don’t,” Emma interrupts, grabbing Regina by the arm and turning her right back around. “We are having this evening, if it kills me.”

“Where can we even go?” Regina protests, reluctantly falling back in step with Emma’s purposeful strides. “Since I’m your dirty little secret, I think that only leaves my house. Or the mausoleum.”

“I skipped the Wednesday Addams phase, thanks,” Emma dismisses the suggestions easily. There’s something bubbling inside her, whether it’s her old defiance or the new sensation of magic, she can’t be entirely sure, but she knows she wants to be out and wants to be moving as much as possible. “And I didn’t say you have to be a dirty little secret.”

“I assumed.”

Emma’s mind is made up in an instant, taking Regina by the arm more gently this time and drawing her into a short, sweet kiss. To hell with the people staring on the opposite side of the street, or the crowd in Granny’s who can no doubt see if they only turn to look.

“That was… bold,” Regina recovers like a pro. “You didn’t want to discuss the decision to go public? It won’t be you they imprison for corrupting the Savior.”

“Fuck it,” Emma replies, about as succinct as she’s ever been. “How many secrets you think we can keep before someone’s head explodes?”

“Don’t think this means you can say anything about Henry. Even your idiot father agrees with me on that one.”

“I know. And however pissed I am at the kid, the feeling like I want to protect him is just… it’s in my gut. I know I’m gonna do it pretty much whatever happens. This, however, is the last conversation we’re having about Henry for at least… let’s say three hours. I’m realistic, I know you can’t go longer than that.”

“And what are we going to do for three hours?” Regina has a glint in her eye. “Perhaps some _grinding_ at the Rabbit Hole like you did with Ruby and Ashley? Or shall we hold hands over the uninspiring entrees at Luigi’s?”

“Okay, it’s creepy when you reference things you only know from having Sidney spy on me,” Emma points out. “And do you really think I’m so limited in my date options? I mean, I might only have decided on it twenty minutes ago, but give me some credit.”

“Where to, then?”

“You know the Brewery building about six blocks over?”

“I know everything in this town, Emma. I willed it into being, remember?” Regina reminds her. “But that building was never occupied. The curse didn’t create any lives that involved it. Leftover, I suppose.”

“Well, in that case I have a surprise for you. And it’s a surprise you might actually like. Come on, people are actually staring now, and it’s getting weird.”

Regina links her arm with Emma’s, shooting a glance tinged with nervousness about whether something so familiar will be allowed. Emma smiles in gentle encouragement, and they continue their walk down Main Street.

***

“You’ve brought me to a dusty room,” Regina deadpans as Emma flips the first lightswitch, right by the door. “You’re right, I am surprised.”

“God, you and your complete lack of patience. I’m beginning to think you adopted Henry because nine months to make a baby would have been just too long.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about him,” Regina replies, in that terse way that indicates Emma has hit a nerve, and probably more than one. Fantastic.

“Good point,” Emma says, flipping on more lights from the panel opposite and bringing the space into view. They walk past battered metal lockers, each a perfect square stacked just a little higher than Emma’s head, and she’s impressed with the authenticity and detail; no wonder nobody worked out their cursed reality for twenty-eight years.

A moment later they’re in front of the shoe-issue desk, and Emma raises her arms in a ‘ta-da’ gesture. Regina stares back at her, faintly bewildered.

“Is this a test?” She demands. “Because I don’t have the first idea what the answer should be.”

“What are you, an 8?” Emma asks, reaching over the counter and swiping a pair of dusty shoes from the shelf. “Oh, okay, I need to clean up a little first, huh?”

“What is this place?” Regina sighs. “I can feel my curse memories tingling again, they’re trying to knit themselves into some sort of recognition. So this feels familiar but I have no idea why.”

“Look!” Emma insists, gesturing towards the closed concession stands, the racks of marbled balls and finally the long wooden stripes of the lanes. The place is kind of vintage, designed to have been battered and well-used even back in ‘83 when Storybrooke and Emma had both popped into existence. “It’s a bowling alley. Admittedly, a very dusty and unused one, but sit yourself down, Regina. I’m gonna give you a show as the first part of our ‘date’.”

“Sit where?” Regina asks, eying the vinyl-covered bench seating with distaste.

“Right there,” Emma says, directing Regina to the first bank of seats and pushing her gently. Taking off her jacket, Emma flexes her fingers and winks at her date, hoping she isn’t about to make a giant fool of herself. She’s been on three real dates in her life, and having discovered this abandoned place while hunting for Perdita, Emma’s determined to recreate some of the only one of those dates that she actually enjoyed. That is if magic doesn’t desert her in a crucial moment, just like she’s now faintly terrified it will.

“Nervous?”

“Shut up.”

Sheer determination is what fuels Emma this time. Twirling slowly, like some kind of geriatric ballerina, pink magic puffs from her fingertips in cloud after cloud. Unlike the aggressive cleaning she’d done at the station or practiced in the apartment, these spells seem to coax a sparkle from every surface, like a series of little sighs blowing the dust and cobwebs away.

Regina watches in something like awe, moving towards Emma as the lights over the lanes finally reach their correct level of brightness, showing off the pine-scented cleanliness of the place. She takes Emma’s hands in her own, turning them over as though inspecting a weapon.

“That really was effortless for you, wasn’t it?” Regina asks, her voice barely a murmur.

“I guess? I mean, I didn’t do it because it was easy.”

“No,” Regina sighs. “I appreciate the gesture. Not that I know how to bowl, but--”

“You don’t know how to bowl?” Emma seizes on the shoes she’d waved at Regina earlier, the leather now stiff and as good as new. With another pair for herself, Emma directs Regina towards the lanes, and lobs the shoes at her with confidence that she’ll catch. “Let’s just have the evening, okay? We’ll get into Emma’s Magic Hands later.”

“Oh, I hope so,” Regina answers with a smirk. Even in bowling shoes, she looks poised. “But I think I’m overdressed, according to my curse intel.” With a snap of her fingers her outfit becomes faded blue jeans, almost as tight as Emma’s own, and a tailored real life bowling shirt, deep purple with her name stitched in yellow above the pocket. “Do I look the part?”

“That really should not be hot,” Emma groans.

“Let’s see how it looks on you,” Regina declares, eyes sparkling in sudden amusement. Another click later and Emma has her own dark blue shirt, with the ‘Emma’ stitched in silver. Regina looks her over with an appraising eye, and likes what she sees if the curl of her lips is any indication.

“Okay, that’s enough playing dress up Barbie for you,” Emma scolds, visiting the racks to select a suitable bowling ball for Regina. “Now, put your thumb in here, and these two fingers in here…”

“Did you pick this activity purely for the innuendo?” Regina complains. “Because if you want to give those instructions, I’d remind you again that I have a perfectly good house, with more than one bed, not to mention the various sofas, tables and floors that we could be taking advantage of.”

“Patience,” Emma grumbles. “Is it too much to ask for one normal night? I feel like I haven’t had a normal day in years. And I know--I know--that when we walk out of here it’s back to dark magic and my same-age parents and hey, my kid tried to choke me out, but… hell, Regina. I need this.”

Regina responds without a sigh, without an eye roll, and slides her fingers into the waiting slots without further comment. There’s a slight frown when Emma releases the ball and the weight jerks Regina’s arm, but she bears it with her usual grace.

“So, teach me,” Regina says after a moment.

“Stand here,” Emma instructs, guiding Regina into position at the foot of the lane. “We’ll get into run ups and foot placement in a while, but for now it’s all about the bend, and it’s all about the roll.”

“How can it be all about--”

“Ssh!”

“So I bend?” Regina asks, flopping forward with unnecessary melodrama. Emma can’t bring herself to mind, because it pushes that perfect ass back against her. She grips Regina’s hips and there’s a hitch in someone’s breathing that suggests they won’t be making it through ten frames anytime soon.

“Now bring your arm back like this,” Emma directs her, grasping Regina’s wrist lightly and demonstrating the range of motion needed. “The trick is not to smack the ball off the ground when you first release it, but more like a glide, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Here,” Emma sighs, grabbing a heavier ball after pulling away from Regina with some reluctance. Regina stands up straight, and some kind of competitive or curious spirit has engaged at last. “I’ll show you.”

She’s rusty, but even with a rudimentary two steps and jerky release, Emma sends the ball careening down the lane hard and direct enough to knock down six pins. The impact sounds as satisfying as ever, and suddenly she’s just the awkward teenager who had her second-ever date in a bowling alley that smelled way more like sugar and floor cleaner than this one does.

“That looks simple enough,” Regina accuses. “Watch.”

She imitates Emma’s movements well enough, but releases the ball far too late and after one loud ‘thump’ on the edge of the lane, it’s a gutterball all the way down.

“But it can’t hit the pins like that,” Regina says. “What kind of trap is this?”

“The kind you have to avoid,” Emma smartasses right back at her. “Now, do you want some lessons? Or is it still ‘simple enough’, hmm?”

“Depends, will you have your hands all over me like before?”

“I’d count on it.”

***

Henry is feeling pretty sorry for himself when he comes downstairs to find Ruby on guard duty. Okay, she’s sitting on the sofa and flicking through a magazine, but it’s clear why she’s there.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m just getting some juice. Want some?”

“I’m good,” Ruby replies, putting the magazine down. “You feeling okay, Henry? You look kinda pale.”

“Just tired,” Henry lies. His headache is back with a vengeance. “I’m sorry you had to babysit. Are you missing anything cool because of me?”

“I was just hanging with Belle. Lacey, I guess, now. She’s pretty lonely at the moment. Gold is gone, and she doesn’t remember her dad or anyone else from his Duchy.”

“You can invite her over,” Henry suggests, before piecing together why Belle isn’t already there. “Oh, I won’t mention magic or Dark One stuff, if that’s what you’re worried about. We can just watch a movie, maybe.”

“You sure?” Ruby asks, but she’s already picking up the phone. Henry nods. “Hey, Granny? Can you tell Lacey where Emma’s place is and send her over? I don’t think she wants to sit in the diner alone all night… thanks, Granny. I shouldn’t be too late.”

“My moms won’t mind,” Henry assures Ruby as she hangs up. “And I won’t cause any trouble. I know what it’s like to feel lonely.”

“You’re a sweet kid,” Ruby says, rooting around in her bag and tossing a Snickers bar across the living room to him. “Let’s seal the deal with chocolate, huh?”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Henry replies. “You’re the best.”

***

“Understand the appeal now?” Emma asks as Regina hits a spare a little while later.

“It’s the noise,” Regina replies, eyes gleaming now. “It’s that perfect ‘click’ of contact. Better than slapping someone across the face. Well, almost.”

“Well, I’m feeling lucky now, so…” Emma steps up and releases a much more controlled ball this time. She knows from the minute it makes kissing contact with the polished wood of the lane that it’s a good one. A moment later: strike.

Raising her arms in victory, Emma drops to her knees like a pro athlete celebrating in front of some imaginary crowd. Regina regards her with a benevolent smile, hands on hips.

“Does this mean you win?”

“No,” Emma says, wiping her knees as she stands again. “We’re not really playing for points. It’s just, you know, fun.”

“Why would you do all this?” Regina asks. “I know magic isn’t… but you could be forgiven for not wanting to touch it after today.”

“It’s in me anyway, right? So I’d rather use it for something good. I’m so tired of ogres and curses and we’re all in mortal peril that I can’t even tell you. How did you people live your whole life this way?”

“Not to mention we had no indoor plumbing. Or wifi.”

“Right,” Emma agrees. “You know, if they want to go back… I have no idea what to say to them.”

“Have they mentioned--”

“No. But I hear them talking, sometimes. They’re so wrapped up in each other they forget that people are around to overhear things. And there’s something…”

“What?” Regina is fully engaged now, the playfulness of the impromptu bowling already shrugged off. “If there’s a plan and you’re going to take Henry--”

“Woah!” Emma risks laying her hands on Regina, this time a loose gripping of her hands, and Regina allows it, maybe relaxes just a fragment. “All I know is David has been spending his days with the dwarves when he’s not on Deputy duty. And they all seem to go drinking with the giant. Might be nothing.”

“It’s never nothing. Your parents have a habit of scheming--”

“You want to take a minute and consider how much that’s the pot calling the kettle--”

“No,” Regina snaps. “But they’re probably up to something. You might want to find out what, before you wake up in a castle and I’m exiled, or trapped in a dungeon somewhere.”

“I don’t think it would come to that,” Emma argues. “And I wouldn’t let them keep you from Henry. And, uh…”

“Well?” Regina just looks irritated now.

“I’m not sure I’d let them keep you from me, either,” Emma confesses, looking up at the ceiling as her face burns a surely embarrassing shade of deep pink. This day has been a doozy for saying what she feels, but it’s spilling out of her as sure as her dumb pink magic. Maybe it’s impossible to keep secrets and spells all locked up in one head.

“Hmm,” is Regina’s only response.

For a second, Emma thinks she might have earned another admission like the hasty exchange in the kitchen, Regina confessing that she now needs Emma around too. It tastes like acid, the craving Emma has to hear that right now; to know that there might be a person who won’t accept any bargain or deal that means leaving Emma behind. Regina says nothing of the kind, and Emma tries very hard to not let it get to her.

“I’m sorry if this was a crappy date,” she says instead. “I really was kinda improvising.”

“I like it,” Regina says, and as if to prove her point, she picks up her ball and sends it hurtling down the lane in a move so graceful it looks choreographed. Her first strike follows Emma’s own, and Regina actually spins around in glee. “That felt good!”

“If you just cheated and used magic,” Emma warns, but Regina strides over to grab Emma by the sides of her tacky bowling shirt.

“I’m a very quick study,” Regina insists, before leaning in to kiss Emma. It’s a kiss that starts out glancing, but instead of pulling back, Regina adjusts her stance and deepens the kiss, her hand on the back of Emma’s head to signal her intent.

“You wanna bowl some more?” Emma asks when they part, both panting just a little.

“I really, really don’t,” Regina says, and one cloud of purple smoke later they’re both standing in her bedroom.

“Presumptuous,” Emma teases, starting to unbutton Regina’s shirt.

“Don’t think I missed how you’ve had your eyes on my ass all night,” Regina counters. As Emma moves to slip Regina’s shirt from her shoulders, she’s stopped by Regina raising her hands to Emma’s face. Pressing her palms against Emma’s cheeks, Regina meets her gaze and seems to consider her next words for a very long moment.

“I won’t be kept from you, either,” Regina says. “I think you already know how I pursue the things I want. If that’s a problem for you, you should consider it now. I won’t make the choice easier on you, when the time comes.”

“I know.”

“Knowing and accepting are two very different things,” Regina reminds her. “And though I still intend on stripping you and having my very wicked way with you for as long as we can get away with taking advantage of Ruby’s kindness, I think you have to start thinking about your decision.”

“What if Henry makes you choose?”

“He won’t,” Regina says, shaking her head. “We’re repairing the damage, but he really still only wants you to be his mother. You’re the non-negotiable thing. If you tell him you want this, he’ll accept it. It won’t work the other way around.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Not anymore,” Emma insists. “You’re not the one he tried to kill, Regina.”

“He wouldn’t have killed you,” Regina tells her. “I don’t believe he would have. No curse or power is that strong. Not unless you’ve given up your heart.”

“This isn’t exactly foreplay, is it?” Emma exhales heavily, pulling away and sitting down on the bed with an ungracious thump against the covers. “Christ, I’m sorry. Even when we try to take a break, we don’t. It’s the same problem, over and over. And we’re trying to… what? Fuck it into oblivion for an hour or so? Real mature, huh?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Regina suggests, majestic even with her lipstick smudged and shirt hanging open. She kicks off her bowling shoes and starts pacing, her rigid posture and thoughtful expression a throwback to the few City Council meetings Emma got dragged to as Sheriff. “As much as I don’t trust her, we should consider consulting with the Blue Fairy. Not for direct help, but just for information. If we threaten her, I think she’ll talk.”

“That doesn’t sound like hero stuff,” Emma hedges, not convinced by the cruel set of Regina’s mouth as she talks. “I mean, you know I’m all about what gets the job done. But we do have to consider an example for Henry. ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ is kinda bullshit when your kid is a mini-Voldemort in training.”

“Nothing beyond what you did as a bounty hunter, then,” Regina offers the compromise. “Or the magical equivalent of it. That bitch has kept one too many secrets over the years, and she’s the only one with first-hand knowledge of the Dark One’s origins.”

“Except for Neal,” Emma reminds her. “Who, okay, is still unconscious and doesn’t know anything about magic except that he hates it. I take your point.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Regina suggests. “Unless anything else develops overnight.”

“And right now?” Emma asks.

“Well,” Regina replies, moving back across the bedroom and sinking to her knees in front of Emma. “I think the first idea is always the best, don’t you?”

***

“Hi!” Belle calls out, popping her head around the door. “Granny said to bring you this.” She produces a box as she walks in, white card that can’t disguise the aroma of freshly baked cherry pie.

“Awesome!” Henry whoops, scrambling into the kitchen to fetch plates and forks. “Should I call you, uh, Lacey now?”

“That’s right,” Lacey says. “I don’t know if we met before, Henry. I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

“Well, you had an accident,” Henry says, meeting Ruby’s eye and encouraging wink. “The main thing is that you’re okay now and you’re gonna watch Despicable Me with us.”

“That’s a movie?” Belle confirms, pulling a knife from the block and cutting three neat slices of pie that she arranges on the plates Henry put out. She smiles at him, and it makes him feel good to smile back. “Here, Ruby, you get first bite since you’re officially on duty.”

“Thanks,” Ruby says, grabbing the plate from Henry and shoveling a big bite into her mouth with the offered fork. “This was just about ready to come out of the oven when I left and the smell was driving me crazy. Granny knows it’s my favorite.”

“Do you want some ice cream?” Henry offers, remembering his manners. “That’s one thing both my moms always remember to shop for.”

“Su-ure?” Ruby sounds weird, and one moment she’s moving towards the freezer, and the next she’s collapsed on the floor, plate smashing right by her head and splattering cherries everywhere.

“Ruby!” Henry calls out. “What happened?” He asks Belle, feeling his heart beat super hard in sudden panic. If she’s been sent here to hurt him, he can’t defend himself. And Mom said she’d be out with Emma all night.

“Well, Henry,” Belle says. “I don’t recommend you sample the pie.”

“What do you want?” Henry asks, swallowing hard at the sight of the big, sharp knife that’s still in her hand. “Lacey doesn’t even know me, what could you possibly want with me?”

“Ah, but I’m not just Lacey,” Belle explains. “When your mothers attacked me and gave me a cursed memory, they also restored the one the town line wiped. I just decided not to share that information, until I worked out what to do with it.”

“But Belle is sweet, and nice, and kind,” Henry insists, because although he hasn’t spent a lot of time with her, the book said everything about her that the Disney movie did, right down to the love of books.

“Lacey, though? Not so much. So with Belle’s knowledge of who and what you are, sonny, Lacey thinks we should do something about it. But don’t worry, it’s actually going to help you. You’ll be a normal boy again.”

“You can’t make me do anything without the dagger,” Henry says. “And in here I can’t even do magic, anyway.”

“Then get your coat, Henry,” Belle snaps. “Because our first stop will be wherever your special knife has gotten to. And if you refuse me, I’m pretty sure I can do enough damage with this one.”

“I’m just a little boy.” So it sounds like whining. Right now, Henry isn’t too proud to admit that.

“That’s the thing, though,” Belle tells him. “You’re anything but.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait - work has been kicking my butt and I got waylaid a little by Dirty Dancing. Rest assured this one is still on track, though! Thank you for all the comments and reviews so far, they've made me much more confident in this 'verse.
> 
> Thanks are due, as ever, to writetherest for beta duty above and beyond!


	13. Chapter 13

Henry smiles to himself as he pulls on his coat over his pajamas. Clearly Belle has no idea what she’s doing, and although he panicked at first, outside of that front door Henry can magic himself away from her and find someone to lock her up.

Of course, he could just…

No. 

His stomach twists so hard it makes him bend over. He still doesn’t understand this force inside him, sometimes it just fades away like water drying when he gets out of the bath. Other times, like now, it feels like a snake lives in his stomach, and it’s all he can do not to puke all over the floor at the thought. The Dark One’s power doesn’t want Belle harmed, that much is clear, even though it allowed Henry to choke his own mother and blast his father into the air. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked if Henry had chosen to target Neal on purpose, if this power really is still partly Rumplestiltskin. 

“Let’s go,” he mutters as Belle lingers at the door, regular kitchen knife in hand.

“Right,” Belle scoffs. “I’m going to let you just walk out there where you can magic me dead? I don’t think so.”

She pulls some weird black bracelet thing from her pocket and, dropping the knife, yanks Henry’s wrist to clamp it in place. The metal is cool at first, but within moments it’s hot enough to burn him, every bit as painful as the burns he got from the sleeping curse.

“Take it off!” He squeals.

“Not bloody likely,” Belle says, grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him outside. “But why don’t you try to magic it off, hmm?”

Henry closes his eyes and wills the hot metal away from his skin. It cools a little and stops hurting at least, but he can’t get it off, no matter how he pulls at it or directs the bubbling magic inside of him. 

“Oh good, I knew raiding Rumple’s little treasure chest would pay off. That cuff leaves you unable to do anything but some basic healing magic.”

“Take it off!” Henry screams at her.

“I said no,” Belle says, grabbing his shoulder again. “Now, you’ve met Belle, and you know she’s a sweet book-reading girl who wouldn’t harm a fly. She loves monsters and thinks they’ll change, for God’s sake. But right now, Lacey’s in charge. And Lacey isn’t afraid to smack a little bastard around to make him do what he’s told.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever you mothers go to get away from you,” Belle replies. “And judging by the gossip in the diner tonight, they’ve found a whole new way to pass the time together.”

“I already know that they’re dating,” Henry says, trying to sound like a badass but it’s more of a whimper instead. “You can’t upset me by saying now they’re going to love each other and not me, so don’t waste your time.”

“Oh, Regina isn’t capable of love, Henry. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“She loves me.”

“I’m sure that’s what she told you. And Emma’s probably trying, too. But these days she looks like someone who opened a beautiful birthday present only to discover that it’s actually a ticking bomb. Not that far from the truth, really, is it?” Belle steers him down the side of the building, smart enough to stay off the main streets where people might stop to talk or ask awkward questions. 

“I’m not taking you anywhere,” Henry yelps when they reach the parking lot, running off across the gravel. He doesn’t get far before Belle is yanking his coat, and this time the knife doesn’t just hover near him, she presses it against his throat from behind.

“You killed my true love, Henry,” Belle says, her voice so sinister he can’t believe it’s the same person who practically cries with happiness over adding ketchup to her cheeseburger. “Don’t think I’ll hesitate. I can find that dagger without you.”

“But you can’t kill me without it,” Henry reminds her. “No matter what crappy jewelry you put on me.”

“Listen,” Belle says, removing the knife and turning Henry around to face her as she crouches in front of him. For a moment she looks kind again, and he doesn’t know whether to push her or hug her. “I have a plan, Henry. I know how to get the Dark One power out of you, and let you go back to being a normal boy.”

“Have you been spying on us?”

“Yes, but only because I can help. I’ve been reading a lot of the books your grandfather left behind. And I’ve found a way for us to have it all.”

“Lacey just wants the power,” Henry accuses, bracing himself to shove and run.

“No, but I miss him so much,” Belle says, bursting into ugly sobs, tears and snot running down her face almost right away. “This stupid power is all that’s left of him, and I thought if I could take it instead, put it inside someone who’s grown and good and who understands love… I thought it would be like having part of him with me, even though he’s gone.”

Henry considers a moment, knowing this is his best chance to escape an obviously damaged woman. But the anger is so much closer, it surges up before he has a chance to control it.

“You’re as crazy as my mom used to be!”

“Oh, Henry,” Belle reprimands. “That’s not a nice word. She was in agony. I might be mad about how she treated me all those years, locking me up and keeping me from the only person I love. But now I understand how she felt. I understand why people do terrible things when they lose.”

“That’s bull,” Henry says, knowing Mom would be horrified and Emma would blush at being the one he learned that from. “Being sad isn’t a reason to hurt other people. And I’m not gonna let you hurt me, or my family.”

“I can take the power and still bring you back,” Belle insists. “And you can live a life without magical prisons and mothers who can’t even look at you. You give me just something of my love back, and I’ll give you everything you need to be happy again.”

“What if I don’t want to give it up?”

“You do.” Belle dismisses his protest, standing once more and wiping her face with her sleeve. Her grip on the knife tightens again. “Or you wouldn’t look so sick every time you think about doing magic.”

“Can you really help me?” Henry pleads, because he doesn’t know how to do any of this anymore, and it isn’t fun, and he’s so freaking tired. He just wants Emma to take him for hot chocolate, or Mom to bake him a surprise banana cream pie. He wants to go to school and play games without worrying he’s going to kill someone. He just wants so badly to be done.

“I can,” Belle confirms. “The books have all the answers, I promise.”

“They’ll be at my mom’s house,” Henry sighs. “Let’s go.”

***

“Wait, what was that?” Emma gasps. “Regina! Oh holy mother of…seriously, stop a second!”

Regina looks up from where she’s settled between Emma’s thighs, eyebrows arched in question. “I was just about to try--”

“Yeah, I noticed. But seriously, did you just hear a door? I swear I did.”

“Every hinge in this house is oiled regularly,” Regina says, because of course she can take a simple observation and find the insult that Emma didn’t even intend. “But big houses like this make strange noises. Castles are worse, for the record.”

“It was nothing?” Emma asks, because Regina’s mouth is, well, glistening, and her hair is all messed up and her eyes are dark as hell which Emma knows now means incredibly turned on, so why exactly are they stopping for some phantom noise?

“Nothing,” Regina confirms, her tongue flickering over her lower lip in pure provocation. Emma groans, her head falling back against the pillow, because she has less than zero chance of resisting that. “May I continue?”

“If you must,” Emma replies through gritted teeth. 

Regina makes her pay for that particular wisecrack, biting her inner thigh. Emma yelps and it turns into a contented sigh as Regina soothes with her tongue, the sensitive skin there almost ticklish. 

“I must,” Regina murmurs, and Emma can’t hold back a laugh.

***

“Give me the dagger,” Belle says, eyes darting towards the staircase. She might not be scared of Henry, but she sure looks nervous about Regina suddenly popping into view. Henry wishes he’d thought of a way to get their attention, but when he figured out they were in the bedroom and heard the laughter… maybe Belle is right. They’ve already made their decision, and an evil kid isn’t what either of them want. 

“What now?” Henry says, handing it over and closing his eyes in preparation. 

“We’ve got an appointment at the library,” Belle tells him. “Come along, your moms won’t miss you, by the sounds of it.”

***

Regina’s face down, clutching at the sheets hard enough to rip them, insanely high thread count be damned. Emma’s knees are starting to ache from where she’s kneeling at the side of the bed, one of Regina’s legs laying heavily over her shoulder while the other is bent at the knee, her foot kicking aimlessly in the air above them as Emma teases closer and closer to the edge that Regina’s ready to kill to fall over.

Huh. With anyone else Emma’s slept with, that was only ever a figure of speech. She shakes her head, before letting her tongue run wild once more, feeling Regina almost vibrate beneath her because she’s oversensitive by now but won’t allow either of them to stop until they absolutely can’t stand it anymore.

Luckily, Emma has just relented and flicked hard against Regina’s clit a few times, letting her come with a cry, when one of their phones starts to ring. In her smug haze, Emma doesn’t realize that it’s her own at first, and when she sees ‘Mary Margaret’ on the screen, there’s a definite temptation not to answer. But they did have that kind of nice chat earlier, and when it comes to Regina then Emma has to concede that there was some actual trying. Unless this is Mary Margaret reacting to that foolish public kiss earlier and oh God--

“Answer it,” Regina snarls. “Or it’s going out the window.”

“Hey,” Emma barks, after sliding her thumb across the scene. “Is something wrong?”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, and it’s enough to make Emma’s stomach plummet. “Ruby just called us, she’s here at the apartment and we think Henry knocked her out to escape.”

“What?” Emma scrambles to her feet, using the nightstand for leverage. Regina reacts to the panic, sitting bolt upright on the bed. “Is Ruby okay?”

“I’m fine!” Ruby calls in the background. “I’m so sorry, Emma. One minute we were gonna watch a movie, and the next I was waking up on the kitchen floor.”

“Is she hurt?” Emma demands of her mother. “Did he… you know?”

“No,” Mary Margaret assures her. “But we should start looking for him. Do you want to come here, first?”

“No, we’re, uh, at Regina’s house, so we’ll check he hasn’t showed up here first.”

Regina is already pulling on her robe, jogging out into the hallway. Emma idly considers how many times Regina must have made that journey across the carpeted floor, checking on a little boy who had only her to rely on. 

“Where should we start? I can go to Granny’s, and your father--”

“Stay together,” Emma urges. “Neither of you has magic if he’s, you know, acting out. He won’t go to the diner because Granny will wonder why he’s there. Start with the playground? Then back via the school and we’ll meet you at the Town Hall if neither of us have him by then. Is Leroy still out at the mines?”

“We’ll call him,” Mary Margaret assures her, as Regina returns, her eyes wild with panic now. 

“Gotta go. See you at the Sheriff’s office, if it gets that far.”

“Of all the irresponsible, dangerous--” Regina begins, but Emma tosses the phone on their rumpled sheets and grabs her to interrupt.

“I know. Trust me, I know. I’m angry too. But we’ve gotta get dressed. And search this house; the garden, too. And anywhere else Henry has ever hidden from you.”

“I’ve already done a spell. Nobody but us on the property. Some of your clothes are still in the…” Regina trails off, waves her hand, and Emma has all her clothing in front of her. They ignore the bowling shirts as they yank tops and pants into place, Regina wafting another little spell that seems to clean them up, a relief in particular where Emma’s thighs are slick and bordering on sticky. 

“Wait,” Emma says, pulling her jacket on. “Where’s the dagger?”

“Wherever you put it when we left the apartment,” Regina answers, running her fingers through her hair and rooting out a more practical pair of black boots from the bottom of her closet. “You took it from the safe, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, you saw me do that while we were waiting for Ruby. And it’s been in my jacket this whole time. Is it possible it got left behind at the bowling alley? Maybe your clothes retrieval spell doesn’t work on it?”

“It should have.”

“I’m saying it was in this jacket, and I have the jacket and it’s not here. And Henry just skipped out on his babysitter, maybe hurting her in the process and…”

“Wait, what _are_ you saying?” Regina snaps, her boots on now and moving towards the door. 

“I guess I’m asking… Regina, do you know where the dagger is?”

“Because you think I’ve taken it? When, exactly? And where do you think I was hiding it? In case you didn’t notice, we’ve been naked for the best part of two hours.”

“And that wasn’t a… I dunno, a diversion?” Emma’s hands are shaking, and she honestly doesn’t know what to believe right now, so she puts her hands on her hips and fakes the confidence to challenge Regina outright. “This whole thing could be. You were with Henry all day. Maybe you decided it would be easier with me out of the picture after all.”

“If I wanted to do that, I had all day while you were hiding from your problems,” Regina points out, and it’s clear she still wants to get going but there’s blood in the water now. “And I was honest with you, about the temptation. I don’t want that for Henry. A life like this… with everyone organized against you… it’s no life at all. And you’ve just reminded me why not.”

“Regina--”

“Another chance, Miss Swan,” Regina opens the bedroom door and steps out into the hall. “And once again you doubt me. How many more times am I supposed to forgive you before I remember why it’s better to end up alone?”

“I was just checking,” Emma pleads, and the hurt on Regina’s face is genuine, and the exhaustion of trying to prove herself to an audience that doesn’t pay attention is obvious in every line. 

“Call me if you find him,” Regina commands, and in a puff of magic, she’s gone.

***

It’s the urgency that lets Emma make her own dramatic exit. She’s torn between fuming at Regina’s desertion and kicking herself for making such a mess of it all when she appears outside the apartment in a cloud of her own pink magic. Emma doesn’t break stride before she’s pushing the door open to find Ruby still waiting there for her. 

“My parents went to the school?” She cuts across the kitchen, keying in the safe’s combination and finding it as empty as she remembered. 

“They’re doing the playground first. I thought I’d help you with tracking, now that I’m not so dizzy. Emma, I’m so, so sorry,” Ruby says, rushing over to hug Emma which only makes her stiffen up. 

“It’s not your fault,” Emma tells her. “I gotta stop farming out my kid to other people. Especially now that he’s some evil genius apparently. Shoulda seen this sort of thing coming.”

“I know, but that’s twice he’s gotten away from me and I just--”

“He drugged you, Ruby. You shouldn’t have to worry about that,” Emma insists. “How good is the, uh, wolf scent thing?”

“Oh, I’m pretty good,” Ruby says, nodding with sudden confidence. “Remember? Even under the curse it still kind of worked. Like when I found your dad in the woods.”

“Well, we need a break,” Emma admits as they jog out towards the street. “If Henry does anything to hurt Belle, I don’t know how we can explain that to the town without, you know…”

“She’s got some experience with this,” Ruby reminds Emma. “If anyone can talk down a power-crazed magic dude, then it’s her. Sorry, I don’t mean to talk about Henry that way.”

“I think we’ve all got to start dealing with the reality of it. Anything?”

“It’s breezy, which doesn’t help,” Ruby explains, tipping her head back and breathing in deeply. “Also, Em, hop in a shower after your next date, huh? It’s pheremone central coming from you.”

“Shit.” Emma blushes furiously. “Sorry, I didn’t think. Did you know before, or…?”

“I suspected,” Ruby says. “But the fact that you have Regina’s scent all over you gives it away, even if I didn’t.”

“Goddamn werewolves,” Emma mutters, punching Ruby’s arm awkwardly. “We were rushing, and Regina just did this cleanup spell.”

“Where is she, anyway?”

“She’s around.” Emma stays evasive. “Whoever finds him first calls the other, same deal with my parents.”

“Oh!” Ruby closes her eyes. “There he is! This way, Emma.”

Breaking into a run, Ruby doesn’t leave Emma much choice but to follow, and they sprint down Main Street, past parked cars and dark storefronts towards the library. Of course, Emma thinks as they slow down outside it. The clock, the hidden dragon, the whole thing keeps coming back to this place. 

It’s too much to hope that they’ll find Belle and Henry in the lobby, or in any of the dusty stacks that still don’t see much traffic even though the library has finally reopened after 28 years of neglect. Sometimes, Emma thinks she must be something like this on the inside, and the familiarity of the deserted space makes her shiver. 

“The scent goes towards that wall,” Ruby points. 

“It’s an elevator,” Emma groans. “I’m gonna call Regina, then I’ll see if I can open it like she did. Some kind of hand sensor in the middle of the wall, I think.” She pulls her phone from her pocket, but Regina appears in front of them, the purple smoke less billowing than usual. 

“You think very loudly,” Regina complains, shaking her head. “It’s like you were screaming my name.”

“We think they’re downstairs,” Emma nods towards the hidden elevator. “How would Henry know about this place?”

“He doesn’t,” Regina snaps, surveying the wall, not quite touching it with her fingertips. “They didn’t go this way, the elevator is still in place.”

“There’s more than one entrance to the lair of the fire-breathing dragon?” Emma manages to keep it less than a shriek, but it’s close. “Jesus Christ, Regina. After all the crap you gave me about safety regulations while you were Mayor, and you’ve got some freakin’ dragon playground just sitting here for anyone to wander in?”

“It would take magic to get in,” Regina corrects. “But there is a staircase, yes. I needed a backup, the elevator takes two people. And as I’ve discovered, there’s really no one else I can rely on.”

“Where’s this staircase then?” Ruby asks, stepping in to defuse the start of another argument. “I really want to work on getting Belle safe, too. No offense.”

“Well, you can have her blood on your hands if we fail,” Regina rounds on her then. “And let’s discuss while we’re at it how you will never--never--be left in charge of my son again. Understood?”

“Yeah,” Ruby agrees, looking ashamed. “I already apologized to Emma, but I’m just so sorry, Regina.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Regina cuts her off. “Just get him back. Unhurt.”

“It’s not her fault,” Emma defends her friend. “We can’t control him either, and you know it. Did you go and get the dagger?”

“It wasn’t at the bowling alley.”

“We have a bowling alley?”

“Not now, Rubes,” Emma stares Regina down. “So if neither of us have it…”

“The noise you heard,” Regina sighs. “It sounded like it was right outside the bedroom? That’s where your jacket got discarded, wasn’t it? With the dagger in the inside pocket.”

“Which means… shit.”

“Eloquent as ever,” Regina mocks. “Let’s go. We have the Dark One, in possession of his dagger, to deal with. Over there, behind the admissions desk.”

The nearly empty bookcase that leans against the wall swivels suddenly, and Emma finds herself trapped in a Scooby Doo cartoon. They pass that secret entrance to find a stone corridor. Another flick of Regina’s wrist and the old-fashioned flaming torches stuck in the walls burst into flame, lighting their way with tall and flickering shadows. 

“Seriously?” Emma mutters as Regina leads them down the passageway. “You want to play some spooky music while we’re at it?”

“I didn’t design it,” Regina calls back. “The curse adapted things to my requirements. Or should I have kept the dragon in my back yard?”

“The dragon’s dead though, right?” Ruby asks, sniffing the air suspiciously. “Because it sure doesn’t smell like dead lizard down here.”

“There may be a little afterglow,” Regina mutters, but the echoes of the passage make her words plainly heard. “While, technically, Maleficent is vanquished…”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Emma groans. “I have to fight a dragon ghost now? How is that even a thing?”

“Well, we could discuss dragon lore, or we could get to our son and Belle,” Regina counters, picking up the pace then and letting Ruby and Emma sprint to catch up with her. The staircase is a winding one, but the steps are comfortably broad, letting them maintain a consistent speed on the way down. Emma is feeling dizzy by the time they finally hit bottom, but she shakes it off and reaches out to the wall for support. The wall, unfortunately, is slick and warm, and for a moment Emma can’t think of anything but dragon drool, which makes her pull her hand away quicksmart. 

“There’s something in there,” Ruby whispers, pointing towards the cavern Emma has been in once before. She realizes that once again she’s reaching for the ineffectual gun in its holster, and when Regina notices the movement she tuts, before pulling a shiny silver sword out of thin air.

“Well, that’s pretty cool,” Emma grumbles, swinging the sword experimentally through the air. It fits in her palm like she was born holding it, light and effortless to wield. For a moment, she feels like a total badass again, until she hears the shrieking that echoes off the walls. “Not bad, given that you bailed on me a half hour ago.”

“I came where Henry is.” Regina is short with her, watching the shadows on the wall keenly, considering her strategy. Emma’s first instinct is to burst in there and ask questions later, which isn’t that far off from Regina’s usual impulsive MO, truth be told. Perhaps with stakes this high, they can afford a little bit of caution. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Ruby snorts, before slapping a hand over her mouth. She eyes Regina warily, waiting for retribution, but it doesn’t come. “Uh, okay, should we start making our approach?”

“Scout,” Regina orders. “Signal when it’s safe to advance.”

Ruby trots off, relieved to have gotten away with her cheeky remark. Emma watches her go, gripping and re-gripping the sword in her right hand. 

“I was just checking,” she explains. “The day I’ve had, you think I might have a trust issue or two.”

“Well, I hope those issues keep you warm at night,” Regina drawls. “Because that’s the last time you’ll be sharing my bed, Miss Swan. Now, focus on Henry.”

Emma could plead her case, make a hundred apologies and beg Regina not to throw her aside. The words almost form, too, because she’s tired and vulnerable and so goddamned sick of being the one disposable part of every arrangement. Need to break a curse? Get rid of Emma for three decades. Need to focus on saving Henry? Get rid of Emma from your bed. It’s a pattern, a lifelong one at that, so Emma closes her eyes against the white stab of anger and settles for grinding her teeth again.

From the corner up ahead, Ruby waves discreetly, urging them on. Emma takes the lead this time, her sharper reflexes making it easy to barge past Regina and reach the edge of the tall stone wall first. She looks beyond Ruby at the familiar rock formations, watches the light flare and the smoke billow for a moment, before her eyes settle on Belle, over by one of the boulders Emma took shelter behind last time around.

“Regina, are you--”

“She’s taken _him_ captive,” Regina supplies. “That twisted little bookworm. I’ll use her hide for binding.”

“Woah!” Emma grabs Regina’s arm as she prepares to rush the little scene: Belle leaning against the boulder, Henry tied with thick rope to a wooden post just in front of her. “This is not what we expected, okay? Let’s still be sure what we’re walking into.”

“Guys?” Ruby has gone whiter than usual, her mouth turned down and her bottom lip wobbling like she might start sobbing at any moment. “When I woke up at first, all I remembered was Belle and Henry being there, and then they weren’t. But, um, it’s sort of coming back to me now. Belle brought cherry pie from the diner…”

“And Regina’s not the only person who can slip a potion in her baked goods?” Emma groans. “Did Henry have some, too?”

“Not that I know of,” Ruby tells her. “It looks like the plan was to take me out of the equation.”

“You know, if you’re going to sneak up on a girl, you should talk a little quieter,” Belle calls out. “Get out here, ladies.”

“Great,” Emma groans. “So much for the element of surprise.” Wielding her sword, she steps out first, nodding to reassure Henry. Magic is charging in Emma’s hands, she can feel it just like static electricity. It’s taking all of her self-control not to charge over there and jab this blade into Belle’s gut, and clearly her magic is charging from that surge of emotion.

“Still Rumple’s errand girl, I see? What kind of idiot goes on a mission for a dead man?”

Regina is on the bitchy offensive, Emma notes with a quiet sigh. It’s devastatingly effective at times and hey, it’s not like she has a better alternative right now. 

“Don’t be mean to her!” Ruby hisses, smiling nervously at her new best friend. “Belle, hon, what’s going on?”

“I’m not Belle,” she replies, her smile almost robotic. “And you, your Majesty, should know better than to mock someone for honoring their dead loved ones. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

“She has a point,” Ruby mutters, prompting Emma to nudge her hard in the ribs. In-fighting is the last thing they need right now.

“You okay, kid?” Emma asks, and if it’s a little gruff, then so be it. All thoughts of being scared of him have evaporated, replaced by an almost feral need to protect, the same energy she can feel radiating back at her from Regina, who’s one mean comment away from ripping Belle’s heart out, and not necessarily the magic way. This Regina wants blood, and Emma can’t do anything but sympathize with that. “Did… Lacey hurt you?”

“No, but this cuff means I can’t do magic,” Henry tries to move his arm to show them, but the ropes are too tight. Emma sees the black leather peeking out from under his sleeve anyway, and looks to Regina for explanation. 

“How dare you use that on him?” Regina gasps. “That belonged to my mother. She told me it was a gift from her first love… and you used it for a cheap enchantment? I thought you hadn’t a magical bone in your body.”

“It already contained the spell,” Belle explains. “And this one isn’t your mother’s, though it is one of a pair. It won’t do him much harm, as long as he doesn’t struggle.”

“How are you doing all this?” Regina demands, tiny fireballs sparking from each of the fingernails on her right hand. She steps closer, all threat and swagger. Emma can see now how this soccer mom once dominated an entire kingdom, even without the killer corsets that Henry’s book is so fond of showing. “And why? Why here, of all places?”

“The library is where I feel safe,” Belle says, and she starts to cry. Emma watches in alarm, but it’s clear this is the Belle she knows in control for a moment. “Oh, I didn’t want to do this.”

“Let him go, Lacey,” Emma pleads. “I can come over there and get him, but it’s better to just untie Henry, okay? Nobody wants any trouble.”

“No!” Henry yells. “She can take the Dark One power away. She knows how!”

“How is that possible?” Regina snaps, charging a full fireball in her palm now. “And I suggest you give me the short version.”

“I did my research,” Belle says. “You’re not the only magical person in town, you know.”

“No, she’s not,” Emma adds a little menace to the scene, stepping closer and summoning a fireball of her own in her left hand, sword readied in her right. “So one more time, untie our son before someone gets hurt.”

“This space contains magic that lets souls linger,” Belle starts to explain, her point punctuated by a shrieking whirl of light that swoops low overhead. The dragon’s… ghost. Spirit. Whatever. “So if I stab Henry with the dagger as gently as possible--”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“No fucking way!”

“Belle!” Ruby joins in the chorus of disbelief, moving herself between Belle and the fireballs before anything can be launched. Emma curses Ruby’s common sense. 

Kidnapping a kid is one thing, and Emma can just about keep her cool on that. But this lunatic is talking about stabbing Henry, about ‘temporarily’ killing him, as though the Dark One’s power is some blood-borne disease to be drained out of him. But she’s been hearing it from every corner since magic became a reality: you can’t bring back the dead.

“Regina, is there _any_ merit to what she’s saying?”

“None!” Regina snaps. “I travelled worlds and stole hearts, and even the brightest and most magical minds knew that death is the one thing we cannot overcome. And after… after Daniel… I won’t risk it.”

“He came back?” Emma’s been meaning to ask, but the moment has never presented.

“While you were gone. Whale did it. Some medical procedure with a magic heart and electricity, I think. It was… he wasn’t Daniel. And he was in so much pain, I had to…”

“You used magic,” Henry completes, his expression baleful. “See? There’s always gonna be an excuse, Mom. And if I can’t get magic out of the town, can we please get it out of me? Sure, Lacey could have asked a lot nicer, but this is the best plan.”

“What has she done to you, darling?” Regina is crooning, almost. Her voice is as soft as Emma has ever heard it. She sounds like cozy fires in the winter, like warm milk at bedtime and cuddles under blankets. It’s pretty jarring, coming from a woman with murder on her mind. “You shouldn’t want this.”

“This isn’t your decision, kid,” Emma chimes in then. This is important, this has to be said and meant. “I know you’re going through a lot, but this is why you have parents. We’ll find the best way to protect you, and we’ll make it happen. And get off your mom’s ass about using magic, would you? We’ve all been using it. We live in a world with magic right now, so if other people are armed with it, we’re gonna be too.”

“You sound like one of those gun nuts,” Ruby mutters, more than a little bitter. 

“And in general, I hate guns,” Emma admits. “But if someone’s charging me down with a Smith & Wesson, I want more than good intentions to defend myself with. That goes for defending my family, too.”

“Enough!” Belle screams. “All this talking. Henry, we’ve made our decision.”

Belle’s in motion so quickly that Emma can’t decide how to react. For a moment, Regina seems equally paralyzed as the slight woman advances on their son, dagger raised to shoulder height. For all the talk, for all the rope and the swooping ghost and dark, damp caves, neither of them actually believed Belle would hurt a child. Even a child filled with distilled evil or whatever the hell this is.

Each fireball flares with a sudden surge of heat, but just as Emma meets Regina’s eye to coordinate the attack, there’s a whooshing noise by Emma’s ear and with a distinctive ‘whump’, Belle is crumpling to the ground, two feet in front of Henry.

“What the--?”

Emma turns slowly, Regina and Ruby doing the same. Tamara stands behind them, coat flapping in the breeze from the flight of the ghost dragon, a shotgun nestled in the crook of her elbow.

“God, Emma,” Tamara announces. “I know they all grew up in fairytales, but you should know better than to stand around talking when the shit hits the fan.”

“Did you--” Ruby chokes out, before rushing over to her fallen friend.

“Relax. It’s a tranq gun.”

“Pity,” Regina snarls. “Miss Swan, give me your weapon and I’ll find a real bullet for her.”

“No!” Ruby growls, scooping Belle up with surprising strength. Emma is startled for a moment until she remembers the whole wolf thing. 

“You want to tell us what you’re doing down here?” Emma demands, getting up in Tamara’s face. She’s supposed to be in town to sit by Neal’s bedside, not putting the latest Storybrooke threat to sleep.

“Sure. After we find somewhere secure to lock up that girl,” Tamara says with a nod. “Your Sheriff station has cells?”

“There are more appropriate facilities, at the hospital,” Regina announces. “She’s quite used to them. Softer walls than average.”

“Regina--”

“Are you denying she’s a credible threat? To our son?”

“No, but it feels cruel, after what you did to her.”

“I can’t undo that now,” Regina says, stalking across the space to untie Henry. It’s been physically paining her not to rush to him, but making sure Tamara wasn’t a new threat had taken precedence for all of them. “But I can protect Henry,” she says, loosening the ropes and pulling him into a crushing hug. “Let’s get that cuff off you, sweetheart.”

“No!” He yelps. “I mean, you can. I guess anyone else can take it off, just not me. But… I think it might be a good idea. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

Emma’s hand rises to her throat without her thinking about it, and Henry looks like he wants to cry.

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” he pleads, wriggling away from Regina to run to her. She accepts his waist-height hug with as much grace as she can, but Emma feels stiff and awkward about it. “Can you forgive me?”

“I’ll try,” she says tightly. “Oh, and thanks,” she says to Tamara, who’s moved over to consult with Ruby. “Whatever your reasons, you saved some bloodshed tonight.”

“Good,” Tamara says. “I have to go check on Neal anyway, so I’ll see you all at the hospital.” She takes off towards the gap in the rocks that leads to the spiral stairs.

“We’re getting you checked out,” Regina announces to Henry, who grimaces at the thought. 

“She didn’t hurt me, I promise. She’s just really sad. She misses my granddad.”

Regina sighs. “I swear, I will never get used to you calling Rumplestiltskin that. But from now on, one of us will be with you at all times, Henry. No more running off, or letting anyone take you. My nerves can’t take it.”

“Your mom is right about that,” Emma agrees, moving towards the elevator to start winding the car down to their level. “For a start, I’d like a whole week without anyone getting in a physical fight.”

“When we’re all safe and back home, you have to tell us everything Belle said to you,” Regina insists, crouching in front of Henry. “And we need to find out more about this Tamara,” she adds, talking to Emma this time.

“Sure,” Emma says. “Let’s just get to the hospital before Ruby’s arms give out, huh?”

“Oh, I can put her down for a bit” Ruby realizes. “You both know if you’d hurt her, I would have taken you out, right? I’m not fooling around on this. Belle gets treated right, until we can fix her.”

“Sorry,” Emma mumbles. “But for what it’s worth, Rubes… I don’t know if she can get better. Not with all she’s been through.”

“She will. I’ll make sure of it.”

The creaking of the elevator finally sounds closer, which is just as well because Emma’s arms are starting to ache from the strain of it all.

“Let’s go,” she says, pulling the grate open. “We have a lot of stuff to work out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever - other stories pulled focus and finding time to write up my longhand notes was tricky. We're approaching the final sequences now, buckle your seatbelts boys and girls!


	14. Chapter 14

“He’s fine,” Whale announces as Regina and Emma scramble to their feet in the waiting area. “I’ve done a full exam and there’s not a scratch on him.”

“And Belle?” Emma asks, nodding towards the curtain that divides the trauma bay. “Has she come around yet?”

“Tamara showed me the dosage on her darts, so Belle shouldn’t be out for too much longer. Her vital signs are all stable; it’s very encouraging.”

“I want her secured the minute your tests are complete,” Regina commands, drawing herself up to her full height, and Emma could swear she actually grows a couple of inches with the ramrod-straight posture that’s definitely crossing over from Mayor to Queen. “If her old room isn’t available, any of the others will do. Have my regular nurse supervise her care.”

“Due respect, Madam Mayor, you’re not calling the shots anymore.”

“Do as she says,” Emma orders, hand twitching towards her badge. “Whatever issues you have with Regina, we need to keep Henry safe. And if Belle’s been fooling around with magic, the Sheriff’s station isn’t equipped to deal with her.”

“Moms!” Henry comes scurrying out from behind his curtain then, still in his hospital gown. He has a clear plastic hospital bracelet on top of the black one Belle put on him.

“Hey kid, how you feeling?”

“I told you already, I’m fine,” Henry huffs, but he looks a little relieved when Regina gathers him into a hug. “Is Belle gonna be okay?”

“We hope so,” Regina answers, smooth as ever. 

“Henry didn’t want us to take his bracelet off,” Whale points out. “And we did try, but I’m guessing there’s magic at work.”

“My mom just likes me to wear it so she can find me” Henry lies, looking at Regina with a steady gaze and inviting her to back it up. “But only you can take it on and off, isn’t that right, Mom?” 

“That’s right,” Regina says. “Given the way mobs get riled up in this town, I take my son’s safety very seriously.” Emma shifts her weight nervously from one foot to the other, as Regina takes their son’s hands in her own. “In fact, this is exactly like the one my own mother gave to me when I was a girl. We’ll take it off in our own time, Doctor.”

“Regina? If this is some black magic whatever--” Emma knows she shouldn’t air their dirty laundry in public, and she knows Belle is the real culprit, but the mention of Cora has put them all on edge again.

“It’s not.”

“You sure?”

“Haven’t I just shown you what I’m willing to do to prevent harm coming to Henry?”

“Fine,” Emma sighs. 

“Let’s go in here,” Regina says, getting back to her feet when she realizes how many people are staring at them. There’s a small bathroom just off the waiting area, and Emma follows them in, not letting the kid out of her sight for a second right now.

“So what’s the trick?” Emma demands once the door is closed. It’s cramped, and the white tile looks that sickly kind of of pale green under the institutional lighting that reflects harshly on every surface. “Or is it like a password?”

“Mom, maybe I should keep it on,” Henry tries again. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else, please.”

“Henry, you were smart to come up with that cover story, but if we’re talking about hurting people, I think you have something to say to Emma.”

“Emma, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean it, I swear. I just get angry and… it’s like I can’t stop it.”

“Gonna take a while to accept that apology,” Emma grunts, but she can already feel her resistance starting to fade. He’s a kid. And without sparkles on his face or blood-curdling giggles, he’s just the sweet little boy who came to find her. She’s not about to give up on him now. 

If only the guilt about getting a much sweeter apology than Regina ever has would fade along with the doubt. “But Regina, does he have a point? I can lock this dagger up for good,” Emma points out, patting her jacket where the knife rests again. “If one simple bit of bling is gonna stop all the magic problems. Not like it’s gonna fall off him anytime soon.”

“What Belle may not have known, and what neither of you seem to have the first clue about, is that the bracelet is not designed for long-term use. Look,” Regina says, pulling the metal carefully from Henry’s skin, as far as it will allow from his slender wrist. “You see how the skin is turning a faint shade of purple? It’ll be twenty times darker by morning. And eventually… well. It isn’t pretty.”

“It did burn a little at first,” Henry admits.

“It only gets worse, sweetheart. We have to get it off,” Regina gets down on her knees in front of him, taking a deep breath that she holds for a long moment. “Now, this is easy if you do just as I tell you.”

“Can I help?” Emma asks, feeling useless as she leans against the closed door with her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. 

Regina shakes her head and continues. She takes Henry’s hands in her own again, and looks up at their son with a reassuring smile and enough love to power the town for a month, if only they could channel it. It’s enough to take Emma’s breath away for a moment, but nobody seems to notice her quiet gasp. 

“You just close your eyes and say out loud, ‘I promise I’ll be good’,” Regina explains, her voice trembling a little. “But Henry, you have to mean it. You have to be thinking how you won’t do magic again. That has to be your intent.”

“What if I don’t mean it enough?” He looks terrified, picking up on the way Regina is practically shaking.

“Then it hurts. A lot,” Regina says, her head dipping for a moment. “But you’re a good boy, Henry. Just take a moment to really focus, and I’m sure you’ll do it. Don’t worry.”

“Maybe we should wait,” Emma suggests, but Regina is nodding at Henry, urging him on. He squeezes his eyes closed, and Emma’s struck by her own memory of a cupcake, a single candle, and the wish that maybe--maybe--set all of these events in motion. Or maybe Henry would have showed up anyway; she’s no longer quite such a cynic when it comes to magic and what it can do.

“I promise I’ll be good,” Henry says, not much louder than a whisper. After a moment, just at the point when Emma thinks she might burst from nervous anticipation, the cuff slips from his wrist and clatters on the tile floor.

“Oh, thank the Gods,” Regina mutters, grabbing at it and shoving it in the pocket of her coat. “Well done, Henry.”

There’s a knock on the bathroom door then. Mary Margaret’s voice travels through the wood, making them all jump.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Henry, go see your grandparents, tell them what happened.” Emma directs, moving away from the door just far enough to open it and steer him out. It’s still not the greatest idea to have Regina and Mary Margaret in close proximity. “Your mom and I need to have a chat.”

“I don’t have anything to talk about,” Regina says, grasping the sink and pulling herself up with less grace than usual. She looks as exhausted as Emma feels. 

“What the hell did she do to you, Regina?”

“Don’t.”

“I know that with everything that happened, you haven’t exactly had time to deal with--”

“I said, don’t.” Regina tries to push past, and if she’d rather be in the same room with her arch-nemesis then she really doesn’t want to talk about it. Emma sympathizes, of course she does, but she also knows all too well the problems of something this horrible left undiscussed.

“I just want to make sure whatever the hell that dredged up for you… do you need some time? I don’t think it’s healthy to have a meltdown around Henry. And I’d be saying the same if it took one of my abandoned orphan issues to get the bracelet off, I promise.”

“I…” Regina flounders there, her eyes closing to hide whatever pain she’s in. Eventually she opens them again, scouring Emma’s features for a lie, for some sign of a trap. “I think for now it’s better I not be alone. Maybe later.”

“You don’t have to be,” Emma reminds her, scrunching her nose at the admission. She’s half a beat away from scuffing her toe against the floor, but none of this emotional crap is getting any easier. “I’m gonna check in with Tamara, then hopefully Belle will be back in the land of the living. Henry can stay with me, or my parents can take him back to the apartment and stand guard.”

“After today, I’m not trusting anyone else with him.”

“No, of course not. But you’re not doing this on your own anymore, remember? So… go do whatever you need to do. Talk to Archie, or--”

Regina looks horrified, so Emma quits while she’s ahead.

“I’ll feel better if Henry’s back at the apartment. If we go now, can you come and take over when you’re done playing Sheriff?”

“You trust me?”

“With Henry? I suppose I do. Besides, you have the dagger.”

“You can take it if you want,” Emma suggests, reaching for it. But Regina places a hand on Emma’s forearm, stopping her.

“I don’t want it,” Regina says. “I’ll take him straight there, it won’t be needed.”

“Sure you don’t need me to come with?” Emma asks. “I can talk to people later.”

“You’re not my wife, Emma. Henry is going to need us around all the time, for a while, so maybe shifts or something will work best. We’ll talk about it.”

“You’re avoiding me,” Emma concludes. “You’re still pissed that I doubted you, and you’re punishing me.”

“Better than you punishing me for things I haven’t done,” Regina snaps back, with her usual venom. “I just want to go.”

“Well, I’m not stopping you,” Emma moves and Regina opens the door again. “I’ll get back as soon as I can, to take my shift.”

“See that you do,” Regina commands, and in just a few steps she has Henry’s hand in hers, both of them disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

***

“How’s he doing?” Emma asks, stopping in the doorway of Neal’s room where the lights are low and the monitors beep quietly. Tamara is in a plastic chair on the far side of the bed, clasping his hand around the intrusion of the IV poking into his skin.

“The swelling in his skull has reduced, apparently. Doctor thinks that medically he should be waking up soon. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see if the magic does anything on top of that.”

“Well, you seem pretty cool with all of this. More than I am, to be honest.”

“Come in, Emma,” Tamara suggests. “Take the other chair and tell me what’s obviously on your mind.”

“It’s just… how are you so calm about this?” Emma asks, sitting down heavily in the free chair. “I know we talked, before, and you said that you track this stuff. But I don’t know how you go from ‘magic is a thing’ to dropping kidnappers in a dragon’s lair. Which nobody discovered in 28 years of a curse, but you walked right into.”

“I saw you heading into the library,” Tamara admits. “I was in my car. Then when Regina followed I thought it might be worth checking out. The two of you usually means Henry stuff and… well, I guess someone has to look out for Neal’s interest in all of this.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Sorry I don’t have a big conspiracy for you.”

“I’ve gotten used to expecting one, sorry. I just… it’s like I can’t catch my breath, you know? And every time I say that to someone here they just do that head tilting thing. Like they’re humoring me, you know? I’m whining about one thing that went wrong when their whole lives have been all this death and danger crap.”

“Doesn’t make your situation any less real,” Tamara suggests. “I’ve always been a roll with the punches kind of gal, so I guess I just seem calmer than I am. You want to get a coffee?”

“I need to check in on Belle,” Emma groans. “And get her somewhere safely out of Regina’s way for when the relief of saving Henry wears off. I do not need more bloodshed on my hands.”

“She’s a handful,” Tamara says, standing to stretch. Emma notes that the tranquilizer gun is propped against her chair, a sawn-off shotgun, basically. “You want me to bring some coffee to Belle’s room? I’m going anyway.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Emma says. “Have you fixed up somewhere to stay while Neal is in here?”

“Yeah, Granny had a room for me. I’ll head back there when visiting hours are over, I guess.”

“If you need anything…”

“Emma, I think you have enough on your plate. But I appreciate the thought. Go get your Sheriff on, caffeine is on its way.”

Tamara strides out of the room first, and Emma follows a moment later, wondering how in the hell she’s still the least well-adapted to the shitshow that her life has become.

***

“Lacey?” Emma speaks softly, nodding at Whale where he’s filling out something on the chart. “You got a moment to talk to me?”

“You can call me Belle,” she responds, pushing herself up against the pillows. “Mother Superior came to check on me, and she’s solved the problem with my memories.”

“She seems quite present,” Whale confirms. “We’ll have Hopper come confirm that later, but for now I’m satisfied.”

“I’m sorry for what we--I--did to Henry,” Belle continues, motioning for Emma to come closer. “I don’t remember any of Lacey’s memories now, but from what they told me, you must have been terrified.”

“I like to think she wouldn’t really have hurt him,” Emma assures Belle, sitting on the edge of the bed but keeping a wary distance all the same. “I mean, it was supposed to be helping, kinda.”

“Is there something wrong with Henry?” Belle asks. “Is he sick?”

“Nothing we can’t fix,” Emma cuts off that line of questioning. At least the Blue Fairy has done them a solid on that front. “I would steer clear of Regina for a while, though. It takes her some time to get over things.”

“I’ll apologize to her, too.”

“Like I say, leave it for a few days.”

“She does have a temper, your Queen,” Belle agrees. 

“My Queen?” Emma flushes at the mention.

“Oh, I just meant she was Queen of your land,” Belle amends, but there’s a sparkle in her eye as she sees Emma’s reaction. “But how fitting that someone is finally trying to break her curse. For all that she did it with bad intent, she’s the reason I ever confessed my true love.”

“Wait, nobody’s saying--”

“She’s a very lonely woman,” Belle continues, brushing Emma’s protest aside. “You might want to be careful of that. They don’t like realizing they need someone else, after so long fending for themselves. I learned that the hard way. She’ll push and push, but you just have to wait it out.”

“Uh… thanks? Anyway, I’m not gonna press any charges right now, given the situation. I might ask you to check in with me a couple of times a week, just so we can be sure the whole Lacey problem is definitely solved.”

“It feels like she’s gone,” Belle assures her. “Did anyone else have problems like this… with two personalities overlapping?”

“Not that we know of,” Emma tells her. “I guess we should just be glad that the Blue Fairy knew a way to fix it all along. Although she could have mentioned that sooner.”

“And uh… Rumple? He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry. But yeah, he is. Neal was here. He arranged the burial and stuff. Maybe when he wakes up you two should talk,” Emma feels like she’s offering not much of anything to someone who seems to have lost everything, but it’s really all she’s got. “We’re hoping he’ll be back with us any day now, I’ll tell Doctor Whale to keep you updated, too.”

“Come see him when you’re up,” Tamara says, entering then with Emma’s coffee. She hands it over and leaves again, with no more than a tired smile.

“Thanks,” Belle says, reaching for Emma’s hand and squeezing it. “You’ll tell Henry I’m sorry, too? I hope I didn’t scare him too much.”

“He’ll be fine,” Emma says, with a lot more confidence than she actually has.

“I don’t know what Lacey could want with an eleven year-old,” Belle sighs. “But let’s all be glad his mothers came to rescue him, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Emma pulls away then, suddenly aware of just how tired she is. “Speaking of, I should go check on said kid and his mom. You feel better, okay?”

“You’re really not mad at me?”

“You weren’t yourself, so I guess not. Like I say, just give Regina some time, and hopefully peace will reign again.”

“Thank you, Emma. You really are a good person,” Belle sinks back against the pillows, reaching for a book on the table by the bed.

“I don’t know about that,” Emma replies with a shrug, before turning and getting the hell out of there.

***

“Mom?” He asks as they approach the front door. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” She asks, trying not to snap, he can hear it in her voice though. “You’re still grounded, Henry. We just got a fright with everything that happened.”

“It’s going to happen again, isn’t it? I mean, Belle will tell people and then they’ll try to fight me, or kidnap me, or steal the dagger and…”

“She won’t tell,” Mom assures him. “Even if I have to lock her up myself, I won’t allow that. And hopefully resetting her to one set of memories at some point will delete that knowledge.”

“Like overwriting a saved file?”

“Something like that. Are you hungry?”

“Is it weird if I really want some pie?”

Mom laughs at that, but it sounds really tired. They walk into Mary Margaret’s apartment, well, it’s Emma’s now really, and Henry feels a little bit like crying because it still doesn’t feel anything like home. Home is sheets that smell like that stuff Mom washes everything in, and the rooms are always warm or cool enough, and there’s always fresh milk in the fridge and cookies piled up in the jar. This space is for adventures, for going to war, for hanging out and getting to know his new family. But it definitely isn’t home.

Maybe he should tell Mom that. It’s the kind of thing that might make her smile, even one of those weird shaky smiles that look more like she’s going to cry, so he does.

“We can go home tomorrow,” she promises. “If you want. I’ll need some help to take the spell from here and put it on our house, but it’s not a problem at all.”

“Thanks,” he says. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”

“No, the range here isn’t very safe. And Emma doesn’t really have any of the flavors I like. But thank you.”

“I really am sorry, Mom,” he blurts out, and she comes to gather him up in a hug, lifting him clean off the floor for a minute. “About everything. About stabbing Mr Gold, about Hook, about not knowing that I shouldn’t trust Belle… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mom mutters against his neck.

“I really didn’t want to hurt Emma. Or you. I just wanted all the magic to go away.”

“I know what that feels like,” Mom tells him, and they part long enough to go and sit on the sofa, side by side. It sags a little, but that’s okay because it means he can cuddle into Mom’s side, just like on movie nights. “But as long as we’re in this world, it looks like you’re stuck with it for now, Henry.”

“That kinda sucks,” he says. “Unless…are you sure that I wasn’t supposed to become the Dark One? Like, maybe there’s another book? Or a prophecy, now that I think about it. I mean, there’s a reason I ended up with the Evil Queen as my mom, isn’t there?”

“Henry--”

“I know. Emma said I shouldn’t call you that anymore. But I think I understand what it feels like now. To get hurt, or angry, and have all this power to make it stop. It’s… kind of cool, right?”

“At first,” Mom admits. “But Henry, you’ve seen the story through to the end. Power changes you. Corrupts you. Do you know what corrupt means?”

“Yeah.” Henry nods. “It makes your heart go black, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mom confirms, and for a moment it looks like she’s thinking about something else altogether. “But you’re not there yet, Henry. There’s still every chance we can stop this Dark One power from interfering with your life. You know I’m not done trying yet, don’t you?”

“I know,” Henry says, and he completely believes her for the first time in too long. “Can we have some hot milk before bed? It’s late, but…”

“Of course,” Mom replies, smoothing his hair and placing a kiss on the top of his head. He feels like he’s five years old again, and even if the apartment is wrong, now he feels warm and he is safe. 

“Thanks,” he tells her. “I’ll go put my PJs on.”

***

“Hey,” Emma says, because she knocked on her own front door again. 

Regina watches her for a long, awkward moment, before relenting with a slump of her shoulders. “Hey.”

“Henry still up?”

“He went to bed without complaint. We talked a little, about the bracelet and not doing magic,” Regina says, standing aside just enough to allow Emma in, but it’s close enough that their bodies brush. 

“Well, if you need to get going…” Emma trails off, taking the dagger from her jacket and crossing the room to the safe. “I understand, you need some time alone. I can take the nightshift.”

“Right,” Regina says, but when Emma turns around the front door is closing and Regina hasn’t moved. “You spoke to Belle?”

“I did. Turns out the Blue Fairy could have rebooted her when she first crossed the line,” Emma discloses, because if anyone else will seize on that fact as suspicious, it’ll be Regina.

“I told you,” Regina sighs. “She can’t be trusted. And yet it suggests once more that she might have knowledge I don’t. We’ll talk to her, this week.”

“And you’re not going home, are you?” Emma approaches cautiously, dropping her jacket on the back of the sofa. 

“I could,” Regina huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and staring Emma down. “I told you before, your doubt means no getting in my bed, Miss Swan.”

“Ah,” Emma says, before tutting loudly. “So careless, Regina. Because you didn’t say anything about my bed, did you? And it’s right over there.”

Regina squeals as Emma rushes to pick her up, and there’s a moment’s pause to be sure, entirely sure that it’s not pushing too far or insisting on anything Regina isn’t willing to give. But she nips at Emma’s earlobe with a playful sort of malice that says there’s a truce, at least for now.

“I am sorry about that,” Emma says, carrying Regina across the room with one cautious glance upstairs to make sure Henry hasn’t stirred. “I won’t doubt you again.”

“See that you don’t,” Regina says, as she’s lowered onto the mattress. “There are plenty of other people to not trust out there. And I think tonight proved that we might actually need one another.”

“Yeah?” Emma is breathless at the thought, and she covers it with a kiss designed to take Regina’s breath from her, too. “We’ll see about that.”

***

Emma is the one who sneaks out in the morning, which feels familiar if not a little ridiculous. Her running gear is easily summoned by magic once she’s outside of the apartment, and it’s hard not to smile when she switches on her iPod and then starts skipping tracks with thought alone. 

She runs through town like the hounds of Hell are chasing her, and who knows, maybe that’s Pongo’s fairytale identity and nobody thought to tell her. She sprints past her parents’ new house, throwing one arm up in what might be considered a wave, in case they’re already up. 

Only when she approaches the woods does Emma slow down, her burning calves and ragged breathing feel as invigorating as cold water to the face, but she has to pick her footing more carefully as she makes her way to the flat and winding path that she knows waits behind the trees. 

She’s reaching for her water bottle when the arrow whizzes past her shoulder, making Emma hit the ground with an instinctive yelp. She gets a face full of leaves and loose dirt for her trouble, and a moment later someone’s hands are on her shoulder, helping her to her feet. 

“Mary Margaret?” She gasps, seeing her mother’s worried face looking back at her.

“Oh, did I get you? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Emma confirms, wriggling away from Mary Margaret’s inspection. “Although maybe put a sign up somewhere if you’re doing archery practice, hmm?”

“You look exhausted. I brought some supplies with me,” Mary Margaret has her fussing mode activated, dropping her bow and offering up a backpack. 

“Supplies? Are you on the run?”

“No, but I’ve been having a tough time lately,” Mary Margaret admits. “Your father tries, he really does, but I just had to get away from people for a while, you know?”

“Tell me about it,” Emma says, swigging from her water bottle, shivering slightly as the cool air hits her sweat-drenched skin. “Speaking of, I should keep moving.”

“You should have a sweater in this weather,” Mary Margaret chides. “I have a spare one if--”

“Thanks, but I have enough on my plate without Regina mocking me for wearing my mom’s clothes. Uh, I mean…”

“Of course. How… is she? And Henry, most importantly?”

“He went to sleep no problem last night. I think he got a bit scared, maybe that’ll be enough to keep things calm for a while.”

“Did you arrest Belle?”

Emma shakes her head. “It wasn’t really her, you know? I’m keeping an eye on her, and we should all make sure Regina doesn’t lay eyes on her for a few days, maybe. But the nun fairy apparently did her thing, so…”

“The Blue Fairy,” Mary Margaret corrects, pulling a Twinkie from her backpack. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“That… kind of defeats the object,” Emma says, even though some processed sugar sounds like heaven right now. “While we’re talking about the Blue thingy, it’s not a problem if we go have a chat with her this week sometime, is it? I mean, there’s no code about all this stuff, about who goes to ask who?”

“Whom. And sure, we can go see her anytime. Just let me know when you want to see her and I’ll arrange it. She’s an old friend, it’s not a problem.”

“Oh,” Emma wrinkles her nose at the mistake. “When I said ‘we’, I sorta meant…”

“You and Regina. Right.”

Mary Margaret makes an elaborate show of picking up her bow again and testing the string on it. It twangs loudly in the awkward silence between them.

“I mean, I could ask you too, because of the friends thing… but with things between you and Regina still so frosty, I thought it was just asking for trouble.”

“Because I tricked her and killed her mother?” 

“Well, yeah. That kind of thing takes a while to get over, Mary Margaret.”

“Much as it did when her mother killed mine,” comes the pointed reminder, and Emma smiles as kindly as she can, jogging in place to warm back up. 

“Even more history that we can’t afford to have in the room when we should be focusing on Henry,” Emma points out. “I’ll come and see you after, keep you updated on everything. In the meantime, we all might need to be a bit more careful about handing Henry off between us. I don’t think he gets any alone time for a while, not even at school.”

“Won’t that make him angry?”

“Kid has to learn to control his temper some time. I mean, we all did. Is it ideal? No. But then neither is finding out your parents are fairytale characters; we adjust.”

“Check in on your dad for me today?” Mary Margaret asks, selecting another arrow and putting one earbud back in.

“You’re gonna be out here all day?”

“Maybe,” Mary Margaret says with a weary smile. “Enjoy the rest of your run, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, and with just one last look back, she jogs back in the direction of the trail she was first heading for. Another hour, to run it and get back. That’s plenty of time to clear her head.

***

It takes two days to remove the magic protection from the apartment and replace it at Regina’s much bigger house. They take turns doing each room, starting with Henry’s bedroom, and eventually the blue glow has faded into each wall of the Mayoral mansion. No bleeding this time, although there’s some dizziness at first when Emma overdoes it, still not entirely in control of her magic.

Henry, for his part, seems relieved to be going home, in between apologizing to Emma fourteen times a day. At the end of that second day, when they’re debating pizza versus Granny’s for dinner--even Regina can’t pretend she has any energy left to cook--Emma panics at how goddamn domestic it’s all getting. 

“You guys get whatever you want. I, uh, need to head home. And go to the station first,” she says, excusing herself and not quite looking Regina in the eye. There’s been nothing left over for extracurricular fun the past two evenings, and Emma doesn’t want to dwell on missing that already, either.

“Stay for dinner, Emma,” Henry commands, but she shakes her head, holding firm.

“I’ll see you after school tomorrow, kid,” she promises, and Henry throws himself back on the sofa in a huff. “Regina, maybe we should go do that errand during the day.”

“Yes, time is marching on I suppose,” Regina groans from where she’s tucked up in a comfortable armchair, hand now over her eyes. “I’ll meet you at Granny’s at eleven.”

“I have to check times and--”

“What else could she possibly be doing? Praying?”

“You’re going to see the Blue Fairy, aren’t you?” Henry asks. 

“Yeah, we need to follow up about Belle,” Emma says, because only telling part of the story, even a tiny part, isn’t quite lying. 

“Oh,” Henry looks bored again, pulling a comic book out from under a cushion, checking to see that Regina isn’t looking to disapprove of his stashing them in inappropriate locations.

“Eleven, then,” Emma says, relieved to walk out into the hall and towards an evening of being alone, just how she likes it.

***

The convent is only a short walk from Granny’s, although Regina is technically doubling back on herself to meet there. Emma doesn’t comment beyond a ‘thanks’ when a steaming hot mocha is pressed into her hand.

Astrid is the one to greet them, and she flits around so nervously that Emma could swear she can see wings fluttering. The fairies don’t seem to have replaced that part of their outfit since magic came back; maybe there isn’t enough fairy dust to go around yet. 

“Blue is very busy today,” Astrid explains, darting from one side of the corridor to the other as they walk. “Perhaps if I had some idea why you need to speak with her…”

“Didn’t Snow set this up?” Regina snaps. “Surely the request of your beloved princess should be reason enough.”

“Oh, she’s made the time, of course,” Astrid corrects. “It’s just that when other magic users come into the convent we have to take certain precautions and--”

Regina charges up a tiny raincloud over Astrid’s head and it starts to sprinkle her with a fine spray of portable rain.

“You were saying?” 

“Oh, I wish you hadn’t done that,” Astrid groans, and Emma rolls her eyes that it’s taken about two whole minutes for Regina to piss off their hosts. Not even Henry’s entire future happiness hanging in the balance can entirely rein her in. Emma wishes really, really hard that she didn’t kind of enjoy that streak in Regina. 

“Your Majesty,” Blue barks, appearing in a fizzing cloud of smoke directly in front of them. “I must insist that you refrain from using magic in our sacred space.”

“Or what?”

“Regina,” Emma warns. “We’ll try to keep the safety on, your uh, Holiness?”

“Blue will suffice, Princess Emma,” Blue says, much kinder but entirely false with it. 

“Then so will ‘Emma’,” she replies, already shuddering at the royalty crap. “Is there somewhere we can talk, in private?”

“This way,” Blue says, and she walks with much more purpose than Astrid, who slinks back the way they came from, leaving Emma and Regina to follow along the corridor and into a small chapel, raised altar, stained glass and all. 

“We’re supposed to believe this is private?” Regina looks around, scornful as ever. Today she’s back in her bossiest clothing: the seams of her A-line skirt sharp enough to slit throats, her blazer as red as the blood that would run. She’s dressed for battle, as much as she can be in this world and its fashions. Emma can’t help wondering where all the insane ballgowns of death from Henry’s book ended up; no way a clotheshorse like Regina gave up her threads so easily. Halloween might just be interesting this year. 

Blue sighs, and produces a wand that looks nothing like the ones from Harry Potter (Emma’s only frame of reference so far, which is kind of alarming now that she thinks about it) , zapping the doors they just came through.

“Satisfied?” She asks.

Regina nods, although Emma isn’t exactly sure what changed, but so long as it stops a fight breaking out, it’s probably for the best. Only then Regina grabs each of them by the arm and they’re off in another puff of her purple smoke, landing in what appears to be some underground room… the crypt, Emma realizes. Regina’s creepy-ass sanctuary.

“I told you not to perform magic in--” Blue rounds on Regina then, but Regina steps aside smartly.

“Now we’re in my sacred space,” Regina mocks, and Emma can’t say anything because of the ten inappropriate comments crowding each other out to just trip off her tongue. That is probably the last thing this situation needs.

“Let’s not fight about location. You know the deal with Henry,” Emma begins. “And I’m sorry we haven’t come to you before now--”

“I’m not,” Regina snorts. Emma fixes her with a glare. Sometimes it’s like being a UN negotiator, only these people are all from the same tiny nation and wouldn’t know negotiation if it grew out of the ground in front of them like a goddamned beanstalk.

“But we’ve been trying to keep the circle small, for Henry’s protection. You understand that, right?”

“Of course,” Blue replies, and the reassuring smile doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes. 

“There was an incident with Belle, you dealt with her afterwards obviously and uh, she was saying there’s a way to get the power out without killing the existing Dark One…?”

“Belle reads a lot of books,” Blue sighs. “But she has no real knowledge of magic. Certainly not a malevolent power as old as this one. It spans countless generations. Empires have risen and fallen, yet the Dark One endures. Do you think a force like that is easy to defeat?”

“Well, obviously we don’t think that. But he’s just a little boy, and it’s already getting way too dangerous,” Emma feels her own hackles rising now, and screw keeping the peace anyway. “And Neal mentioned that you go by another name sometimes. One of those real old names, old enough to have been around when the Dark One was only Fifty Shades of Grey, you know what I mean?”

“Baelfire knows another name for me, yes. But that’s the stuff of legends, believed by children in our world.”

“Just like all of you in this world, so don’t give me that,” Emma retorts. “Do you know anything that might help us? I think you know my family will repay the debt, if there is one. Hell, I’ll work doubles all year if that’s what it takes.”

“That won’t be necessary. You know the same stories that I do. And there’s no one magic user who can defeat the Dark One’s power,” Blue admits, her eyes flitting nervously to the only door, which looks pretty securely barricaded.

“I knew there was no point coming to her,” Regina grumbles, magic crackling from her fingertips and making her clench her fists like a boxer desperate to throw the first punch. “Unless you want me to take out another potential threat to Henry.”

“Regina!” Emma warns, stepping between the two women like she’s regulating a schoolyard squabble. “Hey, Blue: you’re one of those cryptic people, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you choose your words so carefully you’d think you were putting the Sunday Times crossword together,” Emma accuses. “And before you start, Regina, I know you do it in pen and it’s not really that taxing. But having a cursed memory to make you a genius doesn’t count.”

“It’s important to be clear,” Blue says, eyeing Emma with something that might be the very start of respect.

“You’re clear alright,” Emma agrees. “You didn’t say the Dark One can’t be defeated: you said no _one_ magic user can defeat him. Right?”

“Right.”

“But we’re two magic users. Three if we decide to trust you. So what can we do about it?”

“You’re smarter than either of your parents, Emma,” Blue says, almost smiling now. “You might make an even better leader, yet.”

“Like that’s hard,” Regina mutters, only it’s actually loud enough for people two buildings over to hear.

“My magic is no use to you,” Blue confirms. “Fairy magic is all external, can only be channeled through wands and dust. We can make potions of course, but even there we’re limited.”

“I’ve never touched fairy dust,” Emma points out. “And I haven’t seen her Majesty here do anything with dust beyond tut at it and judge me for my housekeeping skills.”

“This is all theoretical,” Blue cautions, before striding back into the center of the room, apparently giving up on her bid for freedom to sit on the upturned oil drum that’s doubling as the room’s only seat. “But you two possess magic that is more... elemental. Much like the Dark One’s. If there were ever to be a match for him...”

“Emma, this is a waste of time--” Regina starts to insist, but Blue interrupts.

“You are perhaps the most powerful sorceress of this, or any other age, Regina. You must have seen how your own powers outstripped even those of your mother, at the height of her infamy.”

“Oh, she got better in Wonderland,” Regina corrects, defiant in a misplaced kind of pride, even now. “But yes, she felt threatened by my magic very early on. She kept it in check, of course. Didn’t want to encourage me.”

“And you’ve seen the power of True Love magic by now. They tell me Emma was the only thing that jumpstarted your powers, that opened a portal where none should have existed.”

“What of it?” Regina asks, still sneering.

“Now, this is by no means a sure thing,” Blue cautions, sighing deeply and relenting at last. “What I tell you is only old stories, and none of it should be taken as fact, or any kind of advice.”

“You need us to sign a waiver?” Emma cracks, feeling her nerves begin to jangle.

“If I were to speculate,” Blue continues. “My best suggestion would be this…”

She waves her wand again, directing Emma and Regina towards the animated figures that appear in a veil of smoke. They both give the scene their full attention, and if Emma is startled by Regina grabbing her hand, well, she does a pretty good job of not showing it.

“Pay attention,” Blue warns. “I won’t be able to conjure this again.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll probably need a summary of where we are in this story, so here goes:
> 
>  
> 
> This story is AU as of 2x16. Cora is dead, but Rumple is dead too, courtesy of an accidental stabbing by Henry.  
> Henry is the new Dark One.  
> Emma and Regina have been working together to teach Henry both magic and the control of it.  
> Belle tried to kidnap Henry to take the Dark One power for herself to have something of her dead true love.  
> David and Snow are you know, trying, but this is a Team Moms situation.  
> Henry's magic works outside of Storybrooke, unlike Emma and Regina's.  
> He managed to wreck Emma's Bug when a trip to hang with Neal didn't work out.  
> Neal is currently in Storybrooke Hospital thanks to Henry lashing out with bad magic. Things are very fraught all around, and Regina has had to magic-proof the mansion as means of keeping Henry under control.  
> ... and that's what you missed on Glee. I mean, on We Need To Talk About Henry.
> 
> We open with Emma and Regina seeking information from Blue about the origins of the Dark One, and the magic that created such a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is NO EXCUSE for the massive delay in updating this story. I'm back on it now and have the bones right to the end written out, awaiting finesse and some editing which it will get in coming weeks. Thank you all of you who cared about this story in the first place. I hope you'll enjoy the resolution!

Emma’s first instinct is to laugh, because when dealing with forces of life-wrecking evil, she expected more than a puppet show. Oh sure, it looks fancy with the creeping shadows and the lights reflecting all over the stone crypt, but she’s about two seconds from bursting out laughing when Regina nudges her quite pointedly in the ribs.

Right. Pay attention.

“Is that--” Regina asks, and Blue nods sharply, frowning so hard Emma would swear the woman is actually vibrating. “But I’ve always been told the origins of the Dark One are lost to time. I met many a bard who thought he alone knew the true story. But I think you know how I dealt with them.”

“I heard tell, your Majesty.” Blue’s mouth is a thin line of disapproval. “Is it true you would grind up their bones to make your bread?”

“Nah,” Emma cut in, her stomach clenching at the mention of Regina’s evil deeds. “Look at her. This woman didn’t eat carbs in any realm. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to have all that sugar in her coffee.”

“My lasagna would disagree,” Regina counters, but she stands a little taller at Emma’s defense of her. “That rumor wasn’t one of the more creative ones, but it’s a false one. Now, can you explain this little trick of the light or not?”

“The Dark One’s power has been contained in that blade for centuries, and now it’s crossed into worlds even without magic, something no other evil artefact can lay claim to.” 

“That’s also true of everyone in this town, evil or otherwise” Regina counters, tapping her foot in impatience. “Tell me what that shadow forming the dagger means.”

“That’s the Black Fairy,” Blue answers, eyes narrowing as she’s forced to tell the truth. “She was the first of my kind.”

“Magic older than Reul Ghorm? You surprise me.”

Emma gets the feeling Regina isn’t actually all that surprised, but she bites her tongue regardless. There are some things that Emma can bring to a fight, but this subject is way, way above her pay grade.

“You understand that most of this is conjecture?” Blue is still resisting giving away any kind of trump card. Emma can’t entirely blame her, because Henry’s book alone is a potted history of people screwing each other over in the name of magic, and sometimes a juicy secret is the only way of guaranteeing survival. “The Black Fairy has been believed gone from our world for some time now. I spent centuries searching for word of her, but none of the neighbouring realms or worlds saw even a trace of her.”

“Magical bodies can die,” Regina suggests. “As easily as regular ones, in fact.”

“Had she died, the dagger’s enchantment would be broken,” Blue amends. “I’m sure you’ve seen by now that the Dark One remains very much a threat.”

“If you’ve been spying on my son--” Regina warns, but Emma placates her with a squeeze to the forearm. It’s the most affection they’ve shown in public since Emma’s daredevil kiss outside the diner, but somehow it feels natural enough that even her legendary fear of commitment isn’t upset about it. 

“When did this Black Fairy disappear?” Emma demands. “Maybe if we narrow it down to when, someone else can work out the where. We have access to Gold’s books and papers now, so that might help, right?”

“The best I can understand is that she was attacked by the Dark One, her own creation. It was the Dark One before Henry, and he was at the height of his new powers.”

“It always comes back to Rumple.” Regina looks less than thrilled at her own observation.

“He may well have intended to kill her, but not even the Dark One could do that to her. Her power outstrips every other that we have known. It has long been supposed that she was banished to another world. One of the few without magic, like this one.”

“If she did die,” Regina interrupts. “Would her power be hereditary? Or would there be some vessel. A dagger of her own?”

“Fairy powers are hereditary.” Blue is a little sniffy about that. “It’s why at first we thought there might be fairy dust at work in your own power.”

“I believe my mother was more of a self-starter,” Regina fires back. “I sought education, too. We don’t derive our powers from dirt.”

“And I can throw fireworks because my mom and dad really like each other,” Emma throws in. “If Rumple is the one who did something to the Black Fairy, there’s no way it went without being recorded. We find out what he did and when, we have something more to track her down. Maybe even where she went.”

“I would like to leave this place.” Blue makes towards the stairs. Interesting that she can’t, or won’t, use more magic on Regina’s turf. “Emma, if we can be of further assistance, you’re always welcome at the convent.”

Regina rolls her eyes at the pointed lack of invitation, and waves her hand to open the crypt floor for the exiting fairy.

“Well,” Emma sighs. “I guess we’ve got more homework to do.”

***

“The books we took are all at my house,” Regina points out as they walk back towards town, hands balled into fists at her sides. Emma doesn’t ask why they’re not traveling by purple cloud. “Though I understand if you need the pretext of going back to Rumple’s.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your panic last night was visible from space. I’m not trying to make an honest woman of you, Miss Swan.”

“Emma,” she corrects, automatically. “Okay, so it was a bit much. We’re both going to have freak out moments, right?”

“Some of us in a more controlled fashion than others,” Regina concedes. “It would be better to be more convincing in front of Henry, though. I don’t think rejection is something he’s handling well at the moment.”

“Message received.” Emma salutes, and it’s only mostly mocking. “Any chance this study session comes with snacks?”

“Healthy snacks.”

Emma groans. It’s going to be a long day.

***

It’s a little under an hour until Henry will be out of school when Emma bangs her forehead off Regina’s desk in frustration. 

“Don’t mark the wood,” Regina grouses. “This desk is older than both of us combined.”

“Does being the Dark One mean you have to write in total chicken scratch?” Emma asks, cheek pressed against the wood because sitting up again means more reading. “Like, it couldn’t be less legible if he were carving it into a tree with the damn dagger.”

“Penmanship is an underrated art.” Regina doesn’t look up from her own scrolls, her focus impressive even through Emma’s interruptions.

“It takes him two pages to explain that he toasted some woman with a green flash,” Emma continues. “Not that he gives any details about the woman, no. That would be too freaking helpful. Do fairies burn green?”

Regina looks up with a positively wicked grin. “Why would you I assume that I know? And no. It’s more turquoise, since you ask.”

“Found anything?” Emma asks, reluctantly straightening her spine. “Or are you just looking for the bits about what a clever baby witch you were?”

“You shouldn’t believe everything that fairy says.” Regina rolls her neck, sighing in relief when it cracks a little. She stands, using the back of her chair to balance as she works out the kinks in her back and legs.

“I’m saying that based on what I’ve seen,” Emma continues the compliments, because she can do a lot with 50 minutes. “You know, a backrub would be way more effective than all those stretches.”

“It might also trigger your commitment issues,” Regina snaps. “We can’t risk that while Henry’s fate is still hanging in the balance.”

“Just the shoulders?” Emma is nothing if not the queen of compromise.

“Fine,” Regina relents, grabbing the next scroll and decamping to the stiff-backed sofa that dominates the center of the study. “You have five minutes. Make them count.”

Emma does exactly that. She kneels behind Regina, keeping the touch light at first but the knots in those shoulders aren’t kidding around. Regina’s red blazer is long since discarded, and the silky black top she’s paired with her skirt is just so easy to unbutton at the back.

“Access,” she shushes when Regina tries to protest. “Don’t want your clothes getting all creased.

Regina relents and leans back into more defined massaging now. A night school course that Emma skipped half of is the basis of her muscular knowledge, but she’s getting to be an expert in Regina’s responses. When Emma dips her head and risks a soft kiss to Regina’s collarbone, Regina responds in kind by straightening up and starting to read again. 

Right. All business.

“Did you say something about a green flash?” It’s not what Emma expected to hear after casually slipping Regina’s bra straps down her shoulders, admittedly. “Uh yeah. Some woman, green flash. You can just about hear the cackling in the background,” Emma recounts, shivering again at the thought of Henry ever turning into that. 

“This is about his son,” Regina says, and she turns around to face Emma, shrugging off the contact between them with some care. “I understand if this is hard for you, I grabbed everything I saw that mentioned Bae.”

“It’s fine,” Emma says on a shuddering exhale. “I mean, I worry. It’s just not … you know, it’s not as bad as it might have been, a few years ago. I can take it.”

“Apparently with the bean that Blue gave him,” Regina paraphrases, looking back at the scroll. “Bae disappeared into some green cyclone in the ground. You’ve hopped worlds, it was green that you saw, right?”

“Not the time I fell into the hat,” Emma remembers after a minute of face-scrunching concentration. “Coming back with Mary Margaret, sure.”

“That’s what I thought,” Regina says. “Death spells rarely give off colors. Red, like when Henry hit his father before, well, that means harm but it goes out when it makes contact with a body. Flares of color seem to be associated with opening, or changing the state of something.”

“You’d think someone would have written all this down so it was obvious,” Emma snorts. “This whole learn it by almost dying technique gets pretty tiring after a while.”

“There’s a chance that woman is the Black Fairy,” Regina points out. “It’s slim, but everything else I can explain or trace to a known person. What we need is someone who can tell us about that far back in time, and the obvious one is already dead.”

“Who do you suggest?” Emma asks, already at a loss.

“Archie?” Regina suggests. “He’s from a generation much before my own, but the transformation into a cricket altered how he ages. It’s why there’s such a gap between him and Geppetto, despite them seeming to be close friends.”

“You know who else is a few hundred years old?” Emma seizes on the pieces of story she pieced together back in the Enchanted Forest. “I’m thinking the guy who knew Rumple as the guy they kicked about, the one who stole his wife. Next time he met Rumple was as the Dark One, so that has to have been early in the process.”

“Yes, and in case you’ve forgotten, we dissipated that man with soap and water after his slimy end.”

“He had friends,” Emma counters. “One of them running around town as a rat, last I heard.”

“One Ratatouille joke and I quit,” Regina warns. “Fix my top, please. We should go and collect Henry.”

***

Dinner is a subdued affair. Henry does his homework at the kitchen table while Regina busies herself with something that smells delicious. Emma feels both at home and totally out of place, settling for magic practice in the adjoining dining room, moving things around quietly and other basics Regina has warned not to get rusty on.

She’s juggling the salt and pepper cellars with her mind when Regina brings in a platter heaped with chicken, the scent of garlic in the steam that rises from it. Henry follows with dishes of rice and vegetables, and before long they’re all seated, Emma pouring the wine handsfree as a quick party piece.

“Is this the rest of my life, then?” Henry asks after his second mouthful. “You guys watching my every move, not being able to do magic in case I go totally evil on you? It doesn’t sound like much fun. Especially if you two can still do any spell you want.”

“Henry…” Regina’s tone is stern but she looks to Emma, at a loss. “We’re just trying to find some options for you.”

“They’re not options if I’m not the one choosing,” Henry grumbles.

Emma stuffs some chicken in her mouth. She’s about to mutiny, and it isn’t going to go down well.

“Kid has a point,” she says after swallowing. “Maybe this stuff we’re doing, while it’s pretty harmless anyway, he could be part of it.”

“Emma,” Regina warns.

“No, come on. Let’s give him the choices we were never given, huh? Your mom lied, Gold lied, hell the fairies still lie to you now, if they think they’ll get away with it. I didn’t even know I had magic until we tore a new world open with a damn hat. Henry deserves better. Even more so when it’s coming from us.”

Regina very carefully arranges her peas with her knife, contemplating.

“You’re right. Henry, we’re currently looking for a man who may be living in the body of a rat.”

“Like Gus?”

“Gus was a mouse,” Emma clarifies. “This is more because of a spell, not what he was in the other world.”

“Who made him a rat?” Henry asks, looking thoughtful. And tired. Way too tired as his lightly-marked wrist lingers in front of his face, fingers flicking his fringe out of his eyes. 

“Gold, presumably,” Regina answers. “The fairies rarely do such intensive magic, and I can’t see that they’d have reason. I know I didn’t, and Emma certainly didn’t. If she’d tried, he’d probably be the size of Mickey at Disneyworld.”

“Hey!” Emma gulps her wine extra fast to retort over Henry’s snickering. “Lay off my magic skills.”

“Which means,” Henry closes his eyes. “Yeah, it was definitely done by the Dark One. There’s a trace I can do on spells with the signature, I think. It’s like I have a memory of it, but it’s not really a memory.”

“I know the trace,” Regina confirms. “It’s not an easy spell, though. It requires ingredients, only some of which I have.”

“Gold’s shop will have the rest,” Henry sighs. “We should get started tomorrow, after school. I’m guessing it’s important you find this rat guy?”

“It might give us a lead on the woman who created the Dark One in the first place,” Emma tells him. “Creator means hopefully working out how to undo it. Or at least make it safe for you.”

“Then I can get the magic out?”

“We can’t promise, Henry.” Regina reaches over from the head of the table to squeeze his shoulder. “We won’t do anything that risks hurting you, either. But we have to try everything possible.”

“I’m just glad you’re including me,” Henry tells her, getting back to his dinner with newfound enthusiasm. “We make a pretty good team, right?”

Emma meets Regina’s eyes while the kid is distracted. Actual teamwork might be a bit more than they’re all ready for.

***

For once, Storybrooke allows Emma to have downtime in her day job. With the anxiety about the afternoon ahead she expected to be dragged all over town on bullshit calls, but the phones are quiet apart from the habitual moaners who don’t really have police problems per se, just a problem with the existence of the police force at all.

Regina doesn’t get in touch, even though Emma slept over last night. They’d grown so tired of the back and forth over the new plan that it had taken an enthusiastic few rounds between the sheets to tire either one of them out enough to get some actual sleep. Emma is paying for that now, on her third coffee of the morning and chasing a sugar high with the biggest bear claw that Granny had in the pastry case.

Her father comes in for the lunchtime start early as usual, nursing his own cup of something hot. He looks genuinely pleased to see her, and Emma tries not to smile too much at that. Having a dad is still confusing most of the time, but in little moments like these she remembers why she craved it for most of her life.

“This is prompt even for you,” Emma remarks. “Is my mom still out shooting defenseless trees?”

“She’s been in the woods a lot,” David confirms. “Doesn’t seem to want my company, so I’ve been keeping busy with the house. You know how much there is to do, so someone has to.”

“Not exactly a castle, though,” Emma interrupts his pity party. “So that has to be quicker.”

“True. And less drafty than a milking shed.” David takes a seat at the desk opposite her, grinning at last as he kicks his feet up on the desk. “We really don’t see much of you these days. How are things with Henry, now that the Belle thing has simmered down?”

“It’s a full-time job,” Emma tells him with a shrug. “They’re not kidding about kids being a lot of work. Throw in an ancient evil curse, and y’know… We’ll come for dinner, soon.”

“We’d like that.” David slurps at his coffee gratefully. “How’s Regina? Behaving, I hope.”

“You don’t have to be that way.” Emma’s hackles rise instantly. “I expect it from Mary Margaret, but surely you must have noticed that--”

David holds his hands up in surrender.

“I was teasing. She’s been a rock through this whole Henry thing, anyone can see that. I’m not totally convinced of her own redemption, frankly, but I’m sure she’ll do anything to spare Henry from the misery she’s endured.”

“Right.”

“Don’t be so stubborn, Emma. You don’t know the Regina that we all do. You’d be more cautious if you did. Especially about this relationship you think you’re hiding from us.”

“Not hiding,” Emma mutters, blushing down at her boots. “We’ve, whatever, gone public. Sorta.”

“We heard all about it. It’s a small town, and gossip is a major currency in this world the same as any other,” David warns. “I can’t say I understand it. But I do understand that we don’t always fall for people who are convenient, who make life easy.”

“Who said anything about falling?” Emma snorts.

“Your face, for a start,” David tells her, getting back out of his chair and rounding the desk to squeeze the tops of Emma’s arms in a really cheesy, Dad-like way. “You’re my girl, Emma. You fall fast and hard and to hell with the consequences, right? Even when it’s for the Evil Queen.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that.”

“You can’t love her if you don’t remember that’s also who she was. She deserves to be loved, flaws and all. Don’t short-change her. Or yourself.”

“You’re really not mad?”

“Was your Mom mad when she winked and gave you her silent blessing the other day? If she can accept it, everyone else can get the hell on board,” David insists. “Just don’t expect totally smooth sailing. That’s not how families go, it seems.”

“Cool.” Emma coughs to clear the urge to cry that’s jammed in her throat. “I guess things are okay with us, then? After all the yelling and panicking and kid going missing shenanigans?”

“They are. You want to tell me what’s next in Operation Henry?”

“That’s not what we’re calling it,” Emma groans. “Don’t put that idea in anyone’s head, you hear me?”

“Aye, aye,” he teases. “Your mom says you’ve been working with the fairies?”

***

Emma picks Henry up at school and takes him straight home. No. To Regina’s. His home. Regina’s home. Not Emma’s home, frequent sleepover rights or not. 

Despite that mental square dance, Emma shows up at Mifflin Street in good spirits, buoyed by the support of her family and the slim hope of actually solving Henry’s current problem for him. Surely with their combined awesomeness, they can pull something off? It can’t be harder than fighting a dragon or opening a portal, really.

Regina is not in quite such a good mood, dispatching Henry to his homework before she’ll even entertain talk of casting spells and catching rats. Emma knows opportunity when she sees it, and instead of the study she drags Regina by the hand into one of the downstairs sitting rooms that’s rarely used. The sofa there is far more comfortable than the one in the study, and Emma has making out - if not more - on her agenda.

“You’re insatiable,” Regina complains, causing Emma to shuffle back just as Regina is slipping her hands beneath Emma’s dark green sweater. “Fine,” Regina huffs a moment later. “So maybe I wasn’t complaining.”

The universe clearly is, though, because Regina’s cell phone interrupts them. It’s some kind of snafu at the Mayor’s office and she excuses herself with an eyeroll to go continue the call in her office. Emma flops back on the sofa with a melodramatic sigh, and though she only closes her eyes for a second, the next thing she knows Henry is poking her cheek with his finger and grunting ‘dinner’ at her.

“Honestly, Emma,” he scolds as they walk over to the dining room. “I’d feel a lot better about you protecting me if you didn’t nap so much.”

“It’s conservation of energy,” Regina supplies when Emma yawns instead of answering. “Emma is making sure she’s fully rested and awake for her duties as a mother. And a sorceress.”

“I’m hardly a sorceress,” Emma grunts, eyes lighting up at the plate heaped with meatballs and spaghetti. 

“Would you prefer witch?” Regina asks, all saccharin sweet. “Henry, dear. I forgot the parmesan.”

“On it,” he announces, trudging back through into the kitchen.

“You let me sleep?” Emma asks.

“You looked peaceful,” Regina replies. “Don’t worry, even in your sleep you tried to cop a feel when I came in to check on you.”

“I’m a pro,” Emma says, sticking her tongue out with all the maturity she’s amassed in her 29 years. “So,” she changes tack, seeing Henry return before Regina does. “After dinner it’s rat trapping time?”

“It may not work,” Regina cautions. “For all we know, he may have been killed by an overzealous cook, or drowned in the harbor.”

“Way to look on the bright side.” Emma grates a metric fuckton of hard cheese over her dinner. “Wait, I’m supposed to leave some of this for you two, right?”

Henry laughs, and snatches the cheese and grater back from her. Emma smiles at him, then at Regina, and tries not to dwell on the curious lack of a burning need to run.

***

“Add the quicksilver carefully,” Regina says in that bossy teacher voice she claims not to have. Emma is watching on the far side of the dinner table, having taken responsibility for clear up to let Henry and Regina build their nerd kit together.

“Is that enough?” Henry asks, but he already seems pretty confident about the whole thing. He’s probably just indulging Regina’s hovering supervision. Emma considers her proximity to the glass tubes and vials, moving down a seat to preserve her eyebrows just in case.

“You know the incantation?” Regina already knows, has confirmed it against one of her own spellbooks, but they’re trying to teach the kid the value of not being impulsive, so Emma doesn’t tease.

Henry pours the slick gray potion into a stone bowl that’s been laid out from the locked cupboard that Regina won’t let either of them look into. Emma happens to know she visited her vault today as well as getting ingredients from Gold, so no doubt more magic paraphernalia is stashed there. One day they’ll get good at being entirely open with each other. Just not yet.

He mutters the spell and waves his hand self-consciously. Little shit manages it first time, too, judging by the way Regina claps at the sudden cloud of smoke that rises. 

“What am I looking for?” He asks. 

“Tell the cloud what you seek. It will show you where any rat bearing the Dark One’s magic in its form can be found.”

Henry nods, and although Emma can make out vague shapes in the cloud, it’s obvious that the picture is much clearer to Henry.

“That big building down by the water,” Henry says after a moment. “You walk out on the pier to get into it. It’s full of machinery, but no one works there. Lots of dust.”

“The cannery,” Regina tells them. “Well, at least that makes sense. Thank you, Henry. Now, you remembered what I told you about cleaning spells?”

“Yeah, just use the one for potions. Everything else is soap and water, put it away by hand,” he rhymes off the instructions, cleaning up the potion with another little wave of his hand. He smiles at Emma across the apparatus. “Don’t be jealous, Emma. You’re more of a fighting magician than a finesse one. At least, that’s what Mom said when you were sleeping.”

“Did she now?”

“Henry, get these things cleaned, please. Utility room, not the kitchen sink.”

“Yes, Mom.” Henry sticks his tongue out at Emma as he passes. It was totally worth it in his eyes.

“Fighting magician?” Emma demands. 

Regina scrunches her nose and has the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I was simply telling Henry that we all have different strengths, with magic or without.”

“And my strength is what? Running into things? Blindly hitting stuff with swords?”

“Your words, dear. Not mine.” Regina takes off towards the hall, actually laughing out loud for once, and Emma is in hot pursuit. She catches her by the front door, but Regina is a willing captive, leaning back against the wall and pulling Emma into a slightly frenzied kiss. They don’t stop until Henry’s muttered ‘gross’ echoes down the marble-floored hallway at them.

“Shouldn’t we be going to the cannery?” Henry asks once they’ve separated and blushed, profusely. “Unless you want to totally waive bedtime, Mom.”

“I said you could be included, Henry,” Regina updates him. “That doesn’t mean every step of the plan. Emma and I will go get the relevant rat. I can use your spell with one of my own once I’m there.”

“Come on,” Henry whines. “It’s not like I’m gonna get rabies.”

“Not a risk I’m prepared to take.” Regina folds her arms over her chest, immovable. Emma isn’t picking this fight for their son, and tries to look similarly resolute at Regina’s side.

“Think of it as free video game time,” Emma says after an awkward silence. “Don’t you miss doing regular stuff, kid?”

“I suppose Dragon Age might be more fun that rooting around some old factory,” Henry decides after a minute or two. “Will you bring the guy here for questioning?”

“Depends what state we find him in,” Emma admits. “You put yourself to bed if he needs to be at the Sheriff station, okay?” What she doesn’t say is that he might need a hospital. Who knows what living as a rat does to a person, magic or no magic.

“Emma’s right,” Regina agrees. “Have fun, sweetheart. We’ll be back just as soon as possible.”

“Is there any point telling you two to be careful?” Henry asks, and for a moment it’s like no craziness has ever gone down between them all. He’s just a little boy, who wants his mommies to come back to him in one piece. 

“We’re always careful,” Regina lies. “We’ll see you soon.”

***

“You know, this search would have made a nice punishment for the whole nearly killing Neal thing,” Emma says after stubbing her toe on yet another crate of God-knows-what. Her flashlight is barely penetrating the gloom, and it’s pretty hard not to snicker at just the thought of the word ‘penetrate’. No way is she explaining an outburst of the giggles like that to Regina, and so she bites her lip to stay focused. “If we want to be the disciplining kind of moms.”

“I didn’t think you had any particular parenting style,” Regina tosses back over her shoulder, but it doesn’t sound like a dig. In fact in sounds kind of nervous. Which isn’t that weird, Emma has to figure, given that she’s not the only person with trust issues in this relationship. Which she’s now apparently calling a relationship, and making decisions about Henry and his future is really different when you’re sharing a bed with the person making those decisions with you.

Which is really why they should focus on finding some glowing, radioactive rat. That’s a hell of a lot easier than working out how to co-parent with the most attractive woman Emma has ever seen, in real life or in dreams. That she’s already scoped out three less dusty surfaces for a little interlude confirms that Emma Swan has got it bad, even if she has the excuse that Henry isn’t in any imminent danger, which makes it totally okay to take their time about getting back.

“Not on your life,” Regina warns, coming back into view. Not for her the common flashlight. She’s levitating a ball of light just above her head, and it chases the shadows way more effectively. Emma shuts off her lump of plastic and replicates the spell as best she can.

“What’s not on my life?” She asks, trying not to look too smug about her floating light ball. 

“I told you before,” Regina reminds her. “You think too loudly. Keep it in your pants for a while, please. I want to make some actual progress with saving our son.”

“I bet I could persuade you.”

“In somewhere this filthy? Dream on, Sheriff Swan. I have way more refinement than that.”

It’s practically a challenge, one that Emma is more than capable of rising to. Which, naturally, makes the perfect moment for a weirdly-colored rat to run across their path. A rat that stays faintly illuminated even when it’s scurried back into the remaining shadows. Emma opens her mouth to say “I’ll get it!”, dashing forward. By the time she’s taken a second step, the rat comes whizzing past her nose, straight into the cage Regina is somehow now holding at shoulder height. She lowers it once the rat is secured, and blinks out her light ball.

“Lead us out, would you?” Regina asks, definitely smirking and definitely not trying to hide it in the slightest. “What was the sailor’s name?”

“Mr. Smee, if you believe the town gossip,” Emma informs her, marching back towards the entrance with her light ball to guide them. “I never really got a chance to discuss much about him with Hook.”

“And now he’s dead,” Regina sing-songs under her breath.

“Just like everyone else who’s ever tried to get with me,” Emma points out, because sometimes it is fun to be just a little cruel. “You should be watching your back, your Majesty.”

“One,” Regina says. “There’s a world of difference between trying to ‘get with you’ and actually getting with you. Notice which one I didn’t settle for. Two, I’m usually the thing those people have to look out for. I think I’ll be just fine, don’t you?”

“Damn, it’s hot when you get all cocky like that.”

“So they tell me.”

“Station?” Emma hopes Regina will be more amenable to a little fooling around once the rat is a man again, safely locked where he can’t see anything they’re getting up to. Hell, Emma knows the station is spotless because it’s an easy way to keep her magic muscles honed. 

“Yes,” Regina decides. “It’s probably best we keep him contained before I go reversing dark magic.”

“I’ll drive,” Emma volunteers, because it’s way more fun now in her new car. Regina does like to take her turn driving now Emma isn’t rattling around in the Bug, and the Mercedes is left in the driveway a surprising amount of the time lately. “Do you think we need a car seat for a rat?”

“One of these days I’ll have a Sheriff who actually knows the road regulations in this town.” Regina sighs, but she pulls Emma by the hand until they’re close enough to kiss. “Until then I’ll have to put up with you.”

“Damn straight,” Emma leans into the kiss with an idiotic grin. Despite everything, Regina keeps her smiling. Not many people, living or dead, could make that claim. “If we’re quick about it, we can get back to the house at a decent time.”

“One-track mind,” Regina mutters, but she kisses Emma just as sweetly as ever. 

For a moment, Emma thinks she sees the shadows at the corner of the cannery move, but her eyes close reflexively as Regina kisses her. A moment later they part, and even after blinking a few times, Emma sees nothing.

“Problem?” Regina asks.

“I just remembered the rat is a person,” Emma grumbles. “Maybe not so much with the free show, huh?”

They make their way to the car and Emma casts one careful glance back at where they’ve just come from. Total stillness. Barely a breeze on an otherwise perfectly calm night.

She guns the engine, waits for Regina to put the rat cage safely on the backseat, and pulls off into the Storybrooke evening.

If only she’d looked again in that moment, she would definitely have seen the shadow move again.


	16. Chapter 16

Regina doesn’t wait for either instruction or invitation, simply letting herself into one of the empty cells and opening the rat’s cage. There’s a moment’s pause to put some kind of glamor over the cell’s bars, since they’re only designed to stop humans escaping it would be a little too easy for a rat. Even a particularly tubby rat like this one, who is in no hurry to step out of his temporary home.

“Mr. Smee,” Regina announces after an impatient click of her tongue. “I don’t have all night. You must know our intention by now, so either you step out of the cage or I transform you while you’re still in it. It’s entirely your choice whether it ends up embedded in your shoulder. Or worse.”

A moment later the rat scurries into the center of the cell. Emma feels pretty bad that the poor little thing is visibly shaking. She feels even worse a few seconds later when there’s a short, fat, naked guy standing in front of Regina.

“Here,” Regina throws him the blanket from the bunk. “Answer our questions and you get clothes.”

“What about food?” He rasps, and there’s a definite squeak at the end. He smells exactly as terrible as Emma expected, and then some. She’d gotten used to Hook’s leather, sweat and rum scent quickly enough, but this is a hundred times worse.

“We’ll even throw in all the rum you can drink,” Regina is pacing the cell now, looming over him in her heels. “So long as you’re actually helpful.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Smee bows low, which knocks his blanket to the floor. Blushing, he scrambles to pick it up again. Regina turns to Emma just long enough to treat her to a spectacular eyeroll.

“Your late captain--”

“Late?” Smee yelps. “Oh no, not my captain.”

“Mourn him in your own time,” Regina snaps. “We’re here to talk to you about the Dark One.”

“Hook called him the Crocodile,” Emma supplies, approaching the bars of the cell. “Were you around when they first met?”

“You mean before he took my captain’s hand?” Smee asks, lower lip trembling. “Aye, happens I was. I remember when the Dark One was just a pathetic cripple. Lost his wife to the Jolly Roger, didn’t even try to fight for her.”

“Bingo,” Emma mutters, nodding for Regina to continue. 

“But he got his revenge, didn’t he? The stories are legend.”

“Aye,” Smee scrubs at his face with a filthy hand. “Killed the woman right there on our deck, too. The captain never forgave that, no sir. Hundreds of years in Neverland, and still he vowed to get revenge.”

“The Dark One can’t be defeated, though,” Regina points out. “Even before the man you know as the Dark One, that was known throughout the kingdoms. He ended an Ogre War by himself, after all.”

“We asked around,” Smee says with a shrug. “There was a fairy, apparently. The one who made the blasted dagger, if I recall correct.”

“Let’s assume that you do,” Regina pounces on the lead, and Emma shivers silently at how dangerous she sounds. “Only the whole story gets you out of here.”

“There is no whole story. Best I know is that only the dagger’s creator can affect it. Otherwise the metal can’t be bent or scratched in any way.”

“You’re saying we need to find someone who can bend the dagger and that’s the Black Fairy?” Emma is less than convinced. “And Hook never found that person in, what, 300 years?”

“Some say the fairy’s dead. Others that she went to another world, maybe more than one. You magic bitches do what you like it seems, and to hell with the rest of us.”

Regina raises her hand, but Emma grabs through the bars to stop her. 

“He did give us something. It’s not exactly great, but it’s something,” Emma says. “Let’s see what we have in lost property to give him, okay?”

The pink sweatshirt, complete with a cartoon kitten and its ball of string, is as far as Emma feels like rooting through the locker for. That it comes with matching sweatpants is just the icing on the cake. She brings them back to the cell, pleased that Regina has left it now but Smee remains behind its unlocked bars, watching them with wary eyes.

“You got somewhere to go?” Emma demands after throwing the clothes in. “If not, ask Granny to put you up for the rest of tonight. Tell her to bill the station.”

“I got friends,” Smee insists. “You know where the rest of the crew might be staying?”

“All the pirate types are in the apartments down at the wharf,” Regina supplies, ever the administrator. “Save for those who’ve been stabbed or drowned, anyway.”

“Don’t suppose you’re going to drive me back in your fancy motor car, then?”

Regina sighs, waits for him to pull the clothing on, and poofs him away in an exasperated flick of her wrist. When the purple smoke clears, Emma speaks up.

“You did send him to the right place, right?”

“Nearly,” Regina answers. “I’m not doing all the work for him.”

***

“Well?” Henry is waiting on the stairs when they enter the Mayoral mansion. “Where’s the rat guy?”

“Mr. Smee is getting to know the buildings around the wharf,” Regina replies. “He wasn’t much use, I’m afraid.”

Henry’s face falls. Emma doesn’t like the way the line of his mouth hardens a moment later. It’s entirely too familiar, and not good news at all.

“Hey, it’s not like we got nothing. We have a way to identify the Black Fairy, if she’s still around. That’s not nothing.”

“How can you tell?” Henry asks. “I’m guessing this Black Fairy is the woman who made the Dark One?”

“Exactly,” Regina steps back in to pick up the tale. “We’ll have to try and track her ourselves, but if we do get a lead then there’s a way to confirm it. It’s better than we had before.”

“I’m sorry you have to do all this stuff just to fix me,” Henry blurts a moment later, staring intently at his hands to avoid their eyes. Emma feels a pang of wanting to comfort him, but it’s Regina who moves towards him instantly, gathering him in a hug that comes so naturally.

“It’s not about fixing, remember,” Regina tells him, kissing him on top of his head. “We just want you to be safe.”

“I’ve been practicing the control spells,” Henry mumbles into her shoulder. “That’s gonna help, right?”

“Of course.” Regina tilts her head, indicating that there’s room for a third in this family moment. Emma squeezes in awkwardly, but both Regina and Henry adjust to make room for her. They hug for a long moment, and Emma lets herself get lost in it. The faint spice of Regina’s perfume, wearing off after a long day. The clean laundry smell that clings to all of their clothes. The waning drift of baby shampoo from Henry’s hair, because nobody has thought to buy him anything more grown up yet. Emma drinks it all in, her arms flexing with how tightly she’s holding on to both.

They’re going to find this goddamned fairy. Because losing what she’s finally found, or at least stumbled into? Is not even close to being an option.

***

“So,” Emma says, as Regina returns to the bedroom, already changed into a satin nightdress that leaves plenty of thigh on display. “We need a process.”

“If you’re going to attempt Emma Nye, Science Guy, I may need an aspirin,” Regina warns, but the teasing is light-hearted. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and reaches for a pot of night cream that she keeps by the bed. Times of crisis are apparently no excuse to neglect a moisturizing regime. 

“We have no idea who the Black Fairy is, other than she hopped worlds, right?”

“I’m with you so far.” Regina swipes lines of cream across her cheekbones like a quarterback and Emma bites back a sarcastic comment about calling audibles; Regina isn’t really one for sports anyway. 

“Do portals leave a trace on the person who used them?”

“Maybe in the hours immediately after,” Regina muses. “Beyond that, I’m afraid we’d have to hit the books again.”

“Say we can find something,” Emma continues. “If we work out a way to track that … essence, or whatever, then we can at least go through everyone in town and eliminate any world jumpers from our list, right? It’s kind of busywork, but it’s something.”

“Fairies can change gender,” Regina adds. “There’s no way of knowing if the fairy was banished here, but it would be somewhere to start.”

“We also need to talk to Archie, like you said. Want me to take that?”

“To avoid me being accused of murder again?” Regina quirks an eyebrow in challenge. Emma doesn’t take the bait, but makes herself look suitably contrite. “Fine, you do it. See if he heard anything else. Jefferson, if we can track him down, wouldn’t be a bad idea either. He’s been to far more worlds than anyone else I can think of.

“See? We’re getting there. Sometimes a quest is about more than just slaying the dragon.”

“Right. It’s all about the dragon research you do beforehand,” Regina answers with a snort. “Are you ever coming to bed?”

“Just wanted to check this,” Emma says, pulling the dagger from inside the jacket she’s hung on the back of the bedroom door. With a swift motion, she stabs the dagger into the doorframe and does her best to bend it in either direction. “Well, we know that I can’t bend it anyway. You want to try magic style?”

Regina is staring at her in disbelief.

“What?”

“Could you maybe restrict your theory testing to the trees in the garden?” Regina asks. “And not mess up my paintwork?”

“Oh. Oops?”

“Get naked, Emma. Then I might forgive you. Just make sure you put that dagger away safely first.”

***

With Henry safely dispatched to school under Mary Margaret’s watchful eye, Emma continues down Main Street to Archie’s office. The diner is much more alluring with all its caffeine and sugar, but frankly they’ve all had enough of feeling like they’re treading water.

Emma walks right into the waiting area, surprised to see almost all the chairs are already taken. It’s barely after nine and Emma only recognizes Ashley in amongst the patients. She’d kind of been expecting to find Archie alone, so the moment he appears at the door, she carefully flashes her badge at the room and pulls a total Regina move in marching right into his office.

“Sheriff Swan,” he greets her as calmly as ever; his voice is like aural Ambien. “I don’t have you in the appointment book.”

“You do have half the town, though.” Emma nods back towards the waiting room. “What’s with the rush? You offering a Groupon?” 

“No, it’s been like this for a while. I try to schedule people, but a lot of them don’t want to wait. It seems that the breaking of the curse and Cora’s visit, amongst other things, has left them in need of counsel.”

“Nice time to be a therapist,” Emma tells him, pacing around the cozy office. “The pharmacy must be pleased, too.”

“Was there something you needed? Only I do have patients, as you can see.”

“Yeah, we covered that. You’re older than Regina, right?”

Archie looks confused at the question. He stalls, sitting in his leather wingback chair and pulling his glasses off, cleaning them with his tie.

“It’s relative, I suppose. Being a cricket, and magically at that… it confuses things.”

“You met Rumplestiltskin before she ever did, right? That’s really what I need to know.” Emma leans over the back of the sofa, propped on her elbows. 

“That’s not something I care to discuss.” Archie clams up real quick, Emma can almost hear a door slamming in his head. 

“Listen, doc. Not for nothing, but I’m very much the good cop in this scenario. If I go back to Regina and tell her you’re not cooperating when we’re trying to help Henry--”

“Help Henry how?” Archie seizes on the slip up, and Emma mentally kicks herself. “As his doctor, of course I want to help him, if I can. Is it something genetic? I know that his son is Henry’s father, of course. We all do now. You know this town and gossip.”

Is that… Emma thinks that might have been a glimmer of a threat in his last words. She doesn’t care for that one bit.

“Although doctor-patient confidentiality gets in the way of gossip, right?” Emma straightens up, choosing her words carefully. She won’t throw the first punch, not even with someone as wussy as Archie, but she’s more than ready to punch back; literally and magically. “So anything I tell you about Henry doesn’t go beyond these walls?”

“Anything Henry tells me is confidential,” Archie crosses his legs and Emma tries desperately not to associate the gesture with Basic Instinct. “Unfortunately, Sheriff, anything you discuss with me is afforded no such protection. You might want to consider that and come back to see me when you know exactly what you do or don’t want to say.”

“I think maybe I’ll do that,” Emma seizes the first opportunity to bail with the relief of a drowning person finally touching land. Her spidey sense is definitely tingling, and it occurs to her that she doesn’t know much about most of the people in this town beyond their Storybrooke criminal records and the tales Snow told at night when they were camping in the Enchanted Forest. Regina occasionally lets a little contempt escape about someone or other, but if Emma were tracking someone for bail she’d do a hell of a lot more background work than the shaky material she has so far.

Which means finally reading Henry’s book, instead of flipping through and looking at the pictures, trying to deny similarities to the faces she’d seen around town. Better she doesn’t let the kid see it, or she’ll never live it down.

She’ll check in with Regina later, Emma decides as she exits via Archie’s crowded waiting room. The book is at her apartment anyway. She pats her jacket before stepping out into the street, reassuring herself that the dagger is still safely concealed. 

***

The apartment is way too empty, so Emma heads to Granny’s with the book. Taking a booth in back makes her way less likely to be disturbed, and even Ruby takes the hint after nervously bringing Emma a cocoa with cinnamon and whipped cream without her ever needing to order.

Whoever wrote the book, frankly, is writing at a kindergarten level that Emma doesn’t appreciate. It’s clearly aimed at idiots, with the plots being foreshadowed pages in advance. If it was a movie, she’d have fallen asleep or walked out before ever reaching the tales of Snow White. 

What doesn’t help is that the stories jump around in time and location, so while they seem to be one big history of fairytales, Emma’s pretty sure she’s picked up on at least ten different plot points that contradict each other. That the author has a writing boner for any boring white guy in the vicinity of a story isn’t lost on her, either. Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham get pages of backstory, even when the story is supposed to be about Maid Marian. Emma’s relieved that none of those people and their boring-ass adventures seem to have shown up in Storybrooke. 

Archie’s story isn’t much more detailed than what Emma has come to understand from Henry and her parents. She’s a little shocked that he screwed Geppetto out of a family that way, and to her mind being turned into a sanctimonious bug isn’t exactly much of a penance. Not when he got to hang out with royalty and be treated like the conscience of everyone on Team Good Guys.

It’s getting harder and harder to argue with Regina’s pouting insistence that the villains just never got a fair shake. 

Her study session is interrupted by her cell, and Emma answers without looking at the screen. It’s only when she hears a different voice that she realizes how readily she’d assumed it would be Regina.

“Tamara, hey,” she responds, hoping she doesn’t sound too flustered.

“I just wanted to let you know that Neal’s awake. He’s still groggy, but the doctors are doing their tests and seem satisfied so far.”

“That’s great news.” Emma is a little stunned by how much she means it. Her voice sounds thick even to her own ears, and she has to quickly clear her throat. “You must be pretty happy.”

“Yeah,” Tamara answers, a little too quickly. “Listen, I don’t know how he’s gonna feel about the kid…”

“I know,” Emma sighs. “You think he’ll be okay if I come check on him later? You can text me, maybe, if he isn’t up for it.”

“I’ll let you know before visiting hours. I think they start at six, right?”

“Right,” Emma knows it by heart, somehow, despite usually just barging in whenever she feels like it. The Sheriff’s badge has some perks. “I’m at… I’ll be at Regina’s if you need anything. Just call, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Tamara hangs up, and Emma closes the book with a sigh, shoving it into the tote bag that Mary Margaret left behind for groceries. Emma can’t remember the last time she bought more than a six-pack and a bag of chips, well, not since when Henry and her were first alone in the apartment for a while. Even then she hadn’t even remembered the damn thing, sticking to brown paper like she had before she moved in to a compulsive organizer and environmental nut’s apartment.

Despite the difficulties, Emma smiles at the thought of being irritated by her mom that way. There’s rarely been anyone trying to instil good habits in her before.

Speaking of someone doing exactly that, Emma decides to follow through on the plan she announced to Tamara, stopping by the counter to grab lunch for herself and Regina. Hopefully she’ll have made some progress on portal-tracking by the time Emma arrives.

***

Arriving at Regina’s means an opportunity to use the key that Regina kind of, maybe, technically gave her that morning. Well, not so much a key as a key spell worked into the magic-sucking defenses, that means only Emma or Regina’s magic grants access to the house. If Emma thinks about it beyond that the lizard part of her brain goes into a full freak-out shutdown mode, and that’s not something any of them need right now.

Instead she concentrates, waves her hand, and smiles at the door swinging open first time. She’s almost getting good at some of this crap.

“Regina?” She calls out, as always feeling just a little intimidated by the grandness of the house. There’s no answer, but Emma hears the strains of blues floating somewhere off the main foyer, and wanders towards Regina’s study, where the sound gets louder despite the door being closed.

Emma opens it carefully, juggling her bag of lunch and shoving the bottles of root beer under her other arm to do so. She’s greeted by the sight of Regina at her desk, lost in some dusty-looking book. Her hair is down, her shoes are kicked off, so even though she’s dressed in one of her habitual designer dresses for the professional woman, she looks relaxed. Emma can picture her in a dorm room somewhere, like one of the Harvard girls she used to cross paths with chasing perps from around Cambridge. 

That’s until she registers the reading glasses, dark frames against Regina’s skin, and Emma’s libido short circuits for a moment. She’s got a bad case of hot for teacher, and unfortunately she’s here to learn. It could end up being the best kind of torture. Regina remains oblivious, enchanting a pen to take notes at the direction of her fingers while she reads. That’s another trick Emma wants to add to her arsenal.

“Lunch is here,” she announces, and Regina finally looks up.

“Sneaky,” she replies, leaning back and closing the book with no small amount of force. “If you’ve brought me grilled cheese…”

“You’d be thrilled,” Emma accuses. “You don’t want to eat all that healthy crap, you just think that you should. I got you a Caesar salad, I’m sure you’ll cope.”

“I will if that root beer is cold,” Regina agrees, pushing her glasses up on top of her head and rubbing her nose where the frames have pinched for a second. She looks younger in that moment, almost impossibly so. Emma thinks it’s maybe because she has the images of a pre-Queen Regina fresh in her mind. It’s not so hard to see the braids and less severe makeup instead of the current, much more polished exterior.

“Come, eat,” Emma insists, nodding towards the uncomfortable couch. “Any luck so far?”

Regina sighs. “Irritatingly enough, your half-witted suggestion last night might have some merit. Not that it excuses any further property damage, so don’t get any ideas.”

“I _am_ the Savior, you know,” Emma teases. “It’s probably not surprising that I’m some kind of magical savant.”

Regina’s look could melt lead. Emma grins back at her, before treating herself to the first bite of grilled cheese. As she chews, she sees Regina’s glare soften, and offers the sandwich to her.

“One bite,” Emma says once she’s swallowed. “Don’t say I never make the big gestures.”

With a smirk, Regina grabs the bread from Emma’s outstretched hand and takes a way-more-than-ladylike bite. The happy little moan she makes as she chews is almost enough to derail Emma entirely.

“Keep it,” she sighs after a moment, starting on the other half of it. “But I’m taking some of your salad.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Regina says with a customary snort. She leans back on the sofa, enjoying another bite of her stolen lunch. “Anyway. My progress. I’ve discovered that there is a signature to portal magic. It’s more complicated than I care to explain right now, but the magic uses certain magical elements in every case. Ones that stay on the subject for years and possibly decades after the event. I suppose in the science of this world you would think of it like absorbing into the bloodstream, or perhaps bonding with molecules. I’ll have to read more to be sure.”

“What it leaves behind, can we test for it?”

“It’s going to require a potion.” Regina looks uncomfortable. “I don’t want Henry being exposed to some of the ingredients, so I’ll make it in my lab.”

“You have a lab?” Emma demands. “Where? It sure as hell isn’t hidden away in your closet.”

“Look at the size of this house, Emma,” Regina points out. “You haven’t even seen half of it. I’ve always maintained a small laboratory in the basement. You just can’t get to it without looking very carefully at the back of the storage area, that’s all.”

“The CIA must be devastated they missed out on you.” Emma is only half-teasing. “But enough with this you making the potions. I’m in, let’s use it as a teaching experience before the kid gets home from school.”

“Are you collecting him or am I?”

“Let’s see how we feel,” Emma suggests. “We could even do it together, be seen in public with our son. Might not be a bad idea in case any rumors start flying around town, you know? This kid comes backed by the Savior. And the uh, Evil Queen.”

“You’ll be less squeamish about that title when it helps protect Henry.”

“Maybe I will.”

“It doesn’t offend me,” Regina tells her. “I chose the title for myself, after a fashion. I’m not ever going to try and deny who I was. So long as nobody tries to force that into being who I am now. Understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Come on,” Regina urges. “Finish up here and I’ll take you for some basic chemistry as a reward.”

***

As they make their way down into the basement, Emma can’t help wishing they were heading upstairs instead. This constant desire to get naked with Regina isn’t exactly convenient, but it is pretty powerful. From the simmering looks thrown her way, at least Emma can be sure the feeling is pretty mutual. It’s good for the ego, and sure as hell puts a spring in her step.

The basement itself is distracting. Emma expects it to be a good size, given the foundations of the house, but the neat white brick hallway is way lighter and more welcoming than she’s come to associate with basements in the many houses she’s lived in. She jiggles a door handle out of sheer nosiness as Regina walks on in front, and Emma is completely taken aback by what she sees.

“You’ve been hiding a games room from me?” She accuses. “Is that a freaking pool table?”

“Billiards,” Regina corrects. “You’ve never asked to do anything we couldn’t accomplish upstairs. I don’t like Henry being down here alone… I suppose it never came up.”

“You don’t have, like, batting cages at the back of the garden too, do you? Or a swimming pool on the freaking roof?”

“Emma, please.” Regina is practically tapping her foot with impatience. “Of course I would have told you about all this before you moved in, I mean-”

“Moved in?” Emma squeaks. “When were you uh, did we… um, I mean…”

“Oh stop breaking into a cold sweat,” Regina scolds. “I meant in the sense of you having your own room. If things get to that stage, with Henry.” Her suddenly shifty demeanor would suggest otherwise though, and Emma fixes a tight smile in place before closing the games room door.

“Let’s go do some magic, huh?”

“Right this way,” Regina barks, leading Emma towards another door.

***

The lab is small and surprisingly airy for a room built underground. Emma suspects residual magic is at work, because the room positively hums with it. 

“I thought you didn’t have magic for 28 years,” she says, walking around the workbench that’s laid out with trays of vials and bottles. 

“Herbs have effects in any world,” Regina replies. “Here, herbalists are mostly quacks, but the properties of the herbs themselves mostly remain constant. It’s just rare for non-magic people to stumble across their full effects. Well, outside of the deadly ones.”

“That’s cheerful,” Emma mumbles. She wishes she hadn’t left her jacket upstairs, the sterile space is a little cold. In her simple white shirt and black jeans, she feels a little defenseless. “So what deadly ones are you going to teach me about today?”

“Mostly nightshade,” Regina answers, without missing a beat. “The rest are much safer, but that’s the key ingredient. Portals are drawn from it. They’re a surprisingly dark form of magic.”

“Wait, didn’t you basically absorb one to save me and Mary Margaret?” Emma pounces on the new information. “How are you still standing here?”

“I’m an extraordinarily powerful witch. Even the Blue twit says so.”

“Still…”

“It had to be done. For Henry.”

“And because you thought my ass looks good in jeans. Admit it.”

“I did not. I couldn’t stand you.”

“Regina…”

“Fine. So you have an appealing ass. I’m only human.” Regina huffs, busying herself with the bottles on the tray. “Do you want to learn or not?”

“Seriously,” Emma continues, joining Regina at the bench and trying to look serious. “I don’t care how much you’re the Beyoncé of magic or whatever. I don’t want you taking big, stupid risks like that again. Henry told me it should have killed someone, afterwards. Now I get why.”

“Don’t tell me want to do,” Regina sniffs, but there’s a flicker of a smile as she pulls bottled herbs from a drawer. 

“Okay so I’m not telling. I’m asking you very nicely. Don’t get yourself dead to save my ass, or any other part of me that you’re wildly attracted to, right? We don’t do that now. Not when there’s a kid who needs us. Both of us.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m sure I can’t deal with this Dark One shit alone, yeah.”

“Fine,” Regina admits. “Now, pay attention. You might think this is like cooking, and knowing you, you think recipes are merely guidelines.”

“Aren’t they?”

“It’s more of a science than an art,” Regina tells her. “Now, we’re going to need a small cauldron. Rest assured I can imagine every stupid joke that just came to you, and I don’t find any of them funny.”

“If I can’t make cauldron jokes, what’s the point?” Emma asks, swallowing a snort of laughter. “You could at least let me get a good hubble, bubble in early.”

Regina glares at her. Emma mentally high-fives herself.

“Fine,” she relents. “Where do you keep the cauldrons, Samantha?”

“In that cupboard over there. And my name is not Samantha.”

“You’d never know it by the way you’re scrunching your nose right now.”

“In disgust, Miss Swan. In disgust.”

***

“So I just add this silver stuff?” Emma mutters, checking Regina’s scrawled instructions for the tenth time. “This stirring thing sounds like it takes forever, too.”

“Read it properly,” Regina groans. “You add the ‘silver stuff’ once you’re stirring. Right now you should be handling the nightshade. Very. Carefully.”

“My hands don’t feel that steady,” Emma whines. “Maybe I should have left this to you after all.”

“Here,” Regina says, stepping in close behind Emma. “You can do this. You just need to concentrate.”

“Since when has you pressed up against me helped me to concentrate?”

“Ssh,” Regina cautions. She slips her arms around Emma’s waist, able to rest her chin on Emma’s shoulder since Emma is in flats and Regina, of course, put her heels back on before coming downstairs. “Concentrate,” she murmurs against Emma’s ear, knowing full well that it makes her shiver. 

The little part of Emma that can’t stop seeking approval takes over, and with steady hands she starts to perform the final steps of making the potion. Only when she risks being too heavy with the ground pearl does Regina lay a steadying hand on her forearm. Then it’s all over but the stirring, mixing the nightshade into the bubbling and steaming cauldron that isn’t making the room even a little bit warmer. 

Regina’s touch, on the other hand.

“Stir,” Regina entreats quietly, her voice knee-shakingly husky now. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet, Emma.”

Emma stifles a groan and follows instruction. It’s taking an incredible amount of self-control, especially when Regina starts to kiss her neck.

“Not fair,” she whines, sprinkling the nightshade over the pot and stirring anyway. Her breath catches in her throat as Regina nips at her earlobe. When Regina’s hands relinquish their grips on Emma’s wrists, they’re on an instant mission to caress the bare skin beneath her white shirt, and the rake of immaculate nails across her abs is absolutely Emma’s breaking point.

“The potion just needs to simmer now,” Regina decides, pulling Emma back and turning her around in one fluid motion. “Meanwhile, we have this whole house to ourselves for at least two hours.”

“Nuh uh,” Emma corrects, dodging Regina’s kiss momentarily. “There’s only one place we’re continuing this, so don’t set your heart on a tour of everything you haven’t shown me just yet.”

“Where?” Regina gets her kiss this time, and Emma is mad at herself for whimpering into it. 

“Follow me,” Emma demands, grabbing Regina’s hand and pulling her from the laboratory space. They make it through the storage room in record time, back into the bright white hallway. “You might know more than me about magic, and herbs,” Emma continues, already a little breathless. “But I’m willing to bet I’m way more of an expert in bending someone over a pool table and having my way with them.”

“Huh,” Regina says around a small choking noise. “Also, billiards.”

“Shut up.”

Regina does. It’s easier when she’s being kissed senseless. 

They back into the room, Emma kicking the door open as she leads their backwards shuffle of kissing and more targeted groping. She’s unbuttoned from both her shirt and jeans by the time her ass hits the side of the table, and the zipper on Regina’s dark dress is somewhere down at hip-level.

“Can you even play?” Emma asks, nuzzling Regina’s neck as she grabs her ass and lifts her, Regina’s legs wrapping automatically around Emma’s waist. “Would it surprise you that I’m a pretty decent hustler?”

“Not in the slightest,” Regina admits, letting Emma deposit her on the green baize, but not letting her loose from the grip of Regina’s calves. “You don’t seem like you’re in the mood to con me, though.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Emma concedes, swirling her tongue in the hollow of Regina’s clavicle, before kissing and nipping in alternate touches along her collarbone. “God, how are we ever going to get anything done, with you being this irresistible?”

“We can stop if you’re so worried about diligence,” Regina mocks, her offer not even slightly close to sincere. “But then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” She shoves Emma’s unzipped jeans down her thighs and then slips her fingers beneath the plain black cotton of her panties. “And it seems a shame when you’re already this wet.”

“Is this my reward for good potion-making?” Emma’s wisecrack ends in a happy hiss as Regina’s middle fingertip drags across her clit. “I’ll take that as a yes. While I appreciate that, I had plans for you on this table, Regina.”

Regina is unusually compliant when Emma finishes the job of stripping her. With Regina leveraging her hips for a moment, it’s hardly any work at all to have her completely free of her dress and the panties beneath it. They’re the same delicate black lace as the tops of her thigh highs and Emma’s mouth gets as dry as other parts get wet at that confirmation. The high-femme thing hasn’t always been a convenient attraction, but Emma’s learned a little something about counting her blessings when they fall into her lap.

“Hands and knees,” Emma instructs, and the scandalized look she gets in return is totally worth it. She dishes out a gentle smack on the outside of Regina’s thigh to get her to hurry up. A moment later she’s in position, head dropped to hide her blushes, with her hair hanging around her face. Her shoulders are tensed, bringing the lines of her back into glorious relief. Emma wishes she had any skill for art beyond paint-by-numbers. She’d fill sketchbook after sketchbook with images like this, and never tire of looking at them.

She’s grinning as she drags her nails down the skin of Regina’s inner thighs, confident now in how unbearably sensitive she is there. 

“Are you just going to stare?” Regina mutters, and it’s kind of unfair. Emma taps her on the ass with an open palm to make exactly that point, before shucking the rest of her own clothes and clambering onto the table behind Regina. It’s an idle fantasy coming true, though Emma is regretting slightly not starting with the old conceit of showing Regina how to really shoot pool. Still, it’s not like the whole Demi and Patrick routine hasn’t achieved just as much of a jump start on things.

Emma takes her sweet time, bending over Regina and caressing her arms as they tremble slightly, pressing kisses all over her bare back. Sometimes Emma’s lips barely skim, just the ghost of contact, others she’s pressing her mouth, half-open, allowing herself to suck at the skin and leave a series of little marks wherever she goes. The alternating is driving Regina insane, her clever brain working overtime trying to work out Emma’s pattern; never realizing that there isn’t one, not really. 

“I wish we could do this all the time,” Emma confesses, straightening up and gently pulling Regina up with her. They’re kneeling on the soft felt of the table, Regina leaning into Emma’s hold on her, seeking warmth and as much touching as she can get. Emma is more than happy to oblige. “I’d love for there to just not be any emergencies or curses or whatever, and just spend a week doing nothing but this. And eating. Food and sex, nothing else. Right?”

“I think you’re describing a honeymoon,” Regina deadpans, turning her head to kiss Emma on the lips to allay any panic. “I think I’ll settle for no mortal danger, and we’ll work out the rest from there. Oh! Especially if you keep doing that.”

Emma cups Regina’s breasts in both hands, squeezing gently before taking both nipples between thumbs and forefingers. 

“More fun than chemistry,” Emma murmurs, before losing herself once more in the feel of Regina. She teases for as long as she dares, until Regina is grinding back against Emma, whimpering for more. As Regina clasps one hand behind Emma’s neck, Emma finally lets her right hand move from darting trips over Regina’s stomach to finally settle between her legs. That Regina is soaked doesn’t exactly hurt Emma’s ego, and she’s too busy silently congratulating herself to notice Regina’s free hand insinuate itself between their bodies.

Nobody’s claiming it’s Regina’s most precise work, not at that angle, but Emma’s so turned on that barely any contact would be enough. By the time she’s worked Regina into her first climax, Regina just has to move her fingers a few more times to bring Emma right along with her. 

For a moment, Emma wishes this was actually an old-fashioned bar. The kind with decorative mirrors on the walls to let her see how great they look together, a little slumped now and temporarily sated. She isn’t concentrating, at least that’s how she excuses the puff of pink magic. It brings what is apparently the mirror from Regina’s dressing room to rest right in front of them, and Emma smirks at her own reflection.

Regina, when she catches her breath and actually notices, squeezes the back of Emma’s neck as a gentle reprimand.

“Quit rearranging my furniture, Swan.”

“Fine,” Emma grunts, swooshing another puff of more deliberate magic at it. “Hey, why don’t we go up to the bedroom and make sure it made it back in one piece?”

“I’m not sure my legs will hold me up right now,” Regina confesses, wriggling free long enough to lie flat on the pool table, Emma joining her a moment later. “But if you pick up the clothes, I’m amenable to using a little more magic.”

“You don’t need to check on the potion?”

“Plenty of time yet.”

Emma takes a deep, slightly shaky breath and leverages herself off the table. The clothes haven’t fallen too far, so she gathers them under one arm before lifting Regina up to sitting. Off her expectant look, Regina waves her hand. A moment later, they’re in the same positions, only Regina is now sitting on her bed. 

Checking for her own satisfaction, Emma dumps the clothes on this other floor and walks over to peek in the dressing room. Sure enough, the mirror with its heavy, cream-colored frame is right where it used to be. She’s not bad at this whole sorcery thing.

“We still have at least an hour,” Regina calls out. “A little more if you share a shower with me.”

Emma grins, turning back around to rejoin Regina in the bedroom. She doesn’t check her phone on the way, which is a shame since the deep pile of the carpet is muffling the vibration of an incoming call.


End file.
